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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


I'KENCH,  «enjamin  Franklin,  historian,  b. 
in  Richmond,  Va.,  8  June,  1799;  d.  in  New  York 
city,  30  May,  1877.  He  studied  law,  but  abandoned 
it  on  account  of  failing  health.  From  his  early 
manhood  he  contributed  to  magazines  and  news- 
papers. He  removed  to  Louisiana^  in__1830,  and 
engaged  in  planting  and  commerce,  continuing  his 
literary  work  and  collecting  an  extensive  library, 
which  he  afterward  presented  to  the  Fiske  free 
library  of  New  Orleans.  In  1853  he  removed  to 
New  York,  and,  retiring  from  business,  devoted 
himself  to  historical  writing.  He  published  "  Bio- 
graphia  Americana  "  (New  York,  1825) ;  "  Memoirs 
of  Eminent  Female  Writers  "  (Philadelphia,  1827) ; 
"  Beauties  of  Byron,  Scott,  and  Moore "  (New 
York,  1828) ;  "  Historical  Collections  of  Louisiana  " 
(1846-'58);  "History  and  Progress  of  the  Iron 
Trade  of  the  United  States "41858);  and  "His- 
torical Annals  of  North  America  "  (1801). 


Hi   El■^'•H/J<ilKil.o^■    NOVv^    BEGIN'3    HER     SPEIi; 
rjirs   SINGING- ^S    SHE     A\1NDS      -A^TD     WEAVES.. 


IC  J'-eKM    THE    GL 


THE 
OF 

SIR  -WALTER   SCOTT, 

AND 

THOMAS  IVEOORE  ESQUIRE; 

sELi:cTED  from: 

THEIR  WORKS; 

WITH 

HISTORICAL  AND  EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


BT   A    GENTtE3IAN    OF   PHILADELPHIA, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
ASH  &  MASON,  AND  T.  DESILVBR. 

1,  B.  BAIIET,  PRINTER. 
1S26. 


EASTERN  DISTRICT  OF  PENNSYLVANIA,  to  wil : 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the  eii^htecuth  day  of 

(L.  S.)     September,  in  the  fifty-first  year  of  the  Independence  of  the 

United  States  of  America,  A.  D.  1326,  Ash  zr  Mason,  of  the  said 

District,  have  deposited  in  this  Office  the  Title  of  a  Book,  the  right 

whereof  they  claim  as  Proprietors,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit:— 

"  The  Beauties  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  Thomas  Moore  Esquire  ;  se- 
*'  lected  from  their  Works  ;  with  Jiistorical  and  explanatory  notes.  By  a 
"  Gentleman  of  Philadelphia." 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  intituled, 
"•An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  i  earaing,  by  securing  t)ie  copies  of 
maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies, 
during  the  times  therein  mentioned;"  And  also  to  the  Act,  entitled,  "An 
Act  supplementary  to  an  Act,  entitled,  '  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  ^ 
of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  au- 
thors and  proprietors  of  such  copies  duiing  the  tim^  s  tlierein  mentioned,' 
and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  aits  of  designing,  engraving, 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

D.  CALDWELL,  Clerk  of  the 

Eastern  District  of  Penns^jlvan-a- 


f^^- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

OF 

THE   LIFE   AND   WRITINGS 

OP 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


^         Sir  Walter  Scott  was  born  at  Edinburg-h,  on  the  15t& 

uf  August  1771,  and  is  the  eldest  son  of  the  late  Walter 

^     Scott  Esq.,  an  eminent  advocate  of  that  city.     In  his  early 

I     youth,  he  displayed  a  considerable  taste  ai\d  genius  in 

drawing  landscapes  from  nature,  but  was  neither  I'emai'k- 

able  for  liveliness  of  disposition  nor  aptitude  for  learning. 

^    At  a  proper  age  he  was  sent  to  tiic  High  School  of  Edin- 

biu'gh,  and  from  thence  to  the  University,  where  he  com- 

5    pleted  his  education  in  a  manner  that  reflected  the  highest 

^   honour  on  the  different  professors  of  that  distinguished  in- 

*J    stitution.    After  the  lapse  of  a  short  time,  he  tiu'ned  his  at- 

^1    tention  to  the  study  of  the  law,  and  was  admitted  a  mem- 

^    ber  of  the  Scottish  bai-  before  he  had  attained  the  age  of 

twenty-one. 

4S1.112 


IV  BlOGnAPHlCAL    SKETCH, 

In  1798,  he  married  a  Miss  Carpenter,  a  young*  lady  de- 
scended from  a  good  family,  and  of  great  beauty  and  ac- 
complishments. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  following  year,  he  was  appoint- 
ed sheriff  depute  of  the  county  of  Selkirk  ;  and  in  March 
1806,  he  was  appointed  one  of  the  principal  clerks  of  the 
Sessions  in  Scotland.  Being  now  relieved  from  the  drudge- 
ry of  professional  labour,  by  the  acquisition  of  two  lucrative 
situations,  and  having  about  this  period  succeeded  to  the 
possession  of  a  valuable  estate  on  the  death  of  his  father, 
he  was  enabled  to  cultivate  his  taste  for  poetry,  and  to  in- 
dulge in  a  variety  of  literary  pursuits.  His  first  pubhca- 
tions  consisted  of  translations  from  the  German,  which  were 
afterwards  followed  by  two  ballads,  entitled,  **  The  Eve  of 
St.  John,"  and  "  Glenfinlas."  In  the  year  1802,  Mr.  Scott 
pubhshed  his  first  great  work,  "  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scot- 
tish Border,"  which  attracted  general  attention.  This  was 
followed  by  **Su-  Tristem,*'  and  in  1805,  he  gave  to  the 
world  his  **Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  poems  in  any  language,  and  which  of  itself  is  suf- 
ficient to  hand  him  down  to  posterity.  In  the  following  year, 
he  published  a  collection  of  "  Ballads  and  Lyrical  Pieces," 
and  in  1808  appeared  his  «*  Marmion,  a  Tale  of  Flodden 
Field,"  which  the  author  has  himself  characterized  as  con- 
taining the  best  and  worst  p^etiy  that  he  has  written.  In 
the  same  year,  he  favoured  the  world  with  a  complete  edi- 
tion of  the  works  of  Dryden,  to  which  he  prefixed  a  new 
life  of  that  gi-eat  writer,  and  interspersed  many  curious  and 
extensive  notes.    While  these  volumes  were  proceeding 


BIOGRAPHICAI    SKETCH.  \ 

through  the  press,  he  also  found  tinie  to  bring  out  a  quar- 
to volume  of  "  Descriptions  and  Illustrations  of  the  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel. "  The  rapidity  of  his  pen  was  now  be- 
yond all  example  in  the  annals  of  genius.  Within  a  few 
months,  he  undertook  the  editing  of  a  new  edition  of  "Lord 
Somer's  Collection  of  Historical  tracts,"  and  at  the  same 
time  "  Sir  Ralph  Sadler's  State  Papers,"  and  "  Anna  Sew- 
ard's Poetical  works ;"  while  in  the  same,  year  in  which 
these  publications  appeared,  another  original  poem,  "The 
Lady  of  the  Lake,"  was  ur^hered  into  the  world ;  a  poem! 
which  raised  the  fame  of  its  author  to  the  highest  pitch. 
In  1811,  appeared  "The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick;"  in  1813, 
*'Rokeby,"  and  in  the  following  year  "  The  Lv^rd  of  the 
Isles,"  together  with  "  The  Border  Antiquities  of  Eng- 
land," and  a  new  edition  of  "  Swift's  works,"  with  a  bio- 
graphical memoir  and  annotations.  "  The  Bridal  of  Trier- 
main,"  and  *'  Harold  the  Dauntless,"  originally  published 
anonymously,  have  been  acknowledged  by  him,  and  print- 
ed unifor|nly  with  his  other  poems.  When  *'Waverley'* 
first  appeared,  there  was  but  one  opinion  on  the  subject  of 
its  author  ;  which  has  since  been  confirmed  by  disclosui'es 
ai'ising  out  of  the  late  failure  of  his  pubhshers. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  created  a  Baronet  by  his  present 
majesty,  and  he  has  also  been  elected  President  of  the 
Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh. 


CONTENTS, 


T^dy  of  the  Lake, 

. 

1 

Loch-Katrine,     - 

- 

3 

Harp  of  the  North, 

. 

4 

Stag  Hunt, 

. 

5 

Brian  the  Hermit, 

. 

11 

Malcolm  Grseme, 

- 

14 

Roderick  Vich  Mpine,    - 

- 

15 

Ambuscade, 

. 

21 

The  Maniac, 

. 

25 

The  Goblin  Cave, 

. 

27 

Mary, 

- 

29 

Melrose  Abbey, 

- 

30 

JDeloraine's  Night  Journey, 

- 

31 

The  Beacm  Blaze  of  War, 

. 

47 

The  Minstrel, 

. 

49 

via 


CONTENTS. 


Lave,     .  -  -  - 

Patriotism,        -  -  . 

Combat  between  two  Knights,    - 

The  Dance  of  Death,     - 

A  Hunting  Song, 

The  Minstrel's  Retreat, 

Crichtoun  Castle, 

The  Shepherd, 

The  Mysterious  Palmer, 

A  Camp  Scene, 

Marmion's  Reception  at  Norham  Castle, 

The  Voyage  of  Lady  Abbess  and  her  Nuns, 

The  Battle  of  Flodden, 

The  Harp,         -  -  -    ' 

The  Cypress  Wreath, 

The  Bandits'  Cave, 

Bertram  the  Buccaneer, 

Allen-a-Dale, 

Hellvellyn, 

Hebridean  Scenery, 

Brace's  Rencontre  luith  Robbers, 

Lochinvar — Lady  Heron's  Song, 

The  Battle  of  Bannockbum, 

Pitt  and  Fox,    -  -  - 

Christmas,  .  .  - 

JVilfrid  Wycliffe, 


CONTENTS. 

IX 

Page 

Hafed, 

. 

171 

The  Harerrit 

. 

174 

Namouna^  the  Enchantress^ 

. 

183 

Paradise  and  the  Periy 

- 

185 

A  Bream  of  Antiquity ^  - 

^ 

205 

Nuurmahal^ 

. 

209 

The  Fickleness  of  Love, 

. 

211 

An  Epistle  from  the  Banks 

of  the  St.  LatvrencCf 

218 

Farewelly 

. 

220 

Melodies^ 

-           -           - 

222 

MusiCf 

. 

236 

BEAUTIES  at'  SCOT!'. 


THE 
BEAUTXBS 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT, 


LAST    OF    THE    LAKE. 


Ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 
A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 
Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face  ! 
What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown. 
Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown. 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light. 
Had  died  her  glowing  hue  so  bright. 
Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow  ; 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  gi-ace 
To  measured  mood  had  trained  her  pace,— 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Na'er  from  the  heath-flower  dashed  the  dew , 
A 


SCOTT — vol.    I, 

E*en  the  slight  hare-bell  raised  its  head, 
Elastic  from  her  airj-  tread  : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue. 
Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear. 
The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear. 

A  chieftain's  daughter  seemed  the  maid  j 
Her  satin  snood,  her  silken  pljdd, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betrayed. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing  5 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care, 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye ; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue, 
Gives  back  the  shagg}'  banks  more  true, 
Than  every  free-bom  glance  confessed 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast : 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  wo  or  pity  claimed  a  sigh. 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  poured  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  called  forth 


SCOTT — VOL.    T. 

The  indicant  spirit  of  the  north. 
One  only  passion,  unrevealed. 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  concealed, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame  ; — 
O  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  ! 


tOCH-KATRINE. 

Gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 
One  burnished  sheet  of  livmg  gold, 
Loch-Katrine  lay  beneath  him  rolled ; 
In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay. 
With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay. 
And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 
Floated  amid  the  livelier  light ; 
And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand. 
To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 
High  on  the  south,  huge  Ben-venue 
Down  to  the  lake  in  masses  threw 
Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurled, 
The  fragpnents  of  an  earlier  world ; 
A  wildering  forest  feathered  o'er 
His  ruined  sides  and  summit  hoar, 
While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 
Ben-an  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare. 

*  *  *  * 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 
To  purple  changed  Loch-Katrine  blue , 


SCOTT — vei.  I. 

Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 

Just  kissed  the  lake,  just  stirred  the  trees,, 

And  the  pleased  Jake,  like  maiden  coy. 

Trembled,  but  dimpled  not  for  joy ; 

The  mountain  shadows  on  her  breast 

Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 

In  bright  unceitainty  tliey  lie. 

Like  futui'e  joys  to  fancy's  eye. 

The  water  lily  to  the  light 

Her  chalice  oped  of  silver  bright ; 

The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemmed  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawH . 

The  gray  mist  left  the  mountain  side. 

The  torrent  showed  its  ghstening  pride  ; 

Invisible  in  flecked  sky. 

The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry ; 

The  black  bird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-monow  gave  from  brake  and  bush  ; 

In  answer  cooed  the  cushat  dove. 

Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 


HARP   or   THE   WORTH. 

Harp  of  the  North  !  that  mouldering  long  hast  hun^ 
On  the  witch-elm  tliat  shades  Saint  Fillan's  spring. 

And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung, 
Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling. 

Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  srtring,— ' 


SCOTT — VOL.  I.  a 

O  minstrel  harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  i* 
Mid  mstling-  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring-, 

Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  tlieir  silence  keep. 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon, 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  crowd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  g-lory  w^on. 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according^  pause,  was  heard  aloud 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high. 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bowed 

For  still  the  burthen  of  thy  Mnistrelsy 
Was  Knighthood's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beauty's  matchless  eye. 

O  wake  once  more  !  how  rude  soe'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray  ; 
O  wake  once  more  !  though  scarce  my  skill  command 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay : 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away. 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain ; 
Yes,  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway. 

The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touched  in  vain. 
'I'hen  silent  be  no  more  !  Enchantress,  wake  again  I 


STAG   HUNT. 

The  Stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill; 
A  2 


SCOTT— vol.    I. 

And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 

In  lone  Glenartney*s  hazel  shade  ; 

But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head. 

The  deep-mouthed  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way. 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne, 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

As  chief  who  hears  his  warder  call, 

•*To  arms !  the  foemen  storm  the  wall,'*— 

The  antlered  monarch  of  the  waste 

Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 

But,  e'er  his  fleet  career  he  took, 

The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high. 

Tossed  his  beamed  frontlet  to  the  sky  .- 

A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 

A  moment  snuffed  the  tainted  gale, 

A  moment  hstened  to  the  cry. 

That  thickened  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 

Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appeared. 

With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 

And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far. 

Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

Yelled  on  the  view  the  opening  pack, 
Rock,  glen  and  cavern  paid  them  back  ,• 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awakened  mountain  gave  responBe. 


SCOTT vol,    I. 

A  hundred  dogs  bayed  deep  and  strong. 
Clattered  a  hundred  steeds  along. 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  joined  the  shout  : 
With  hark  and  whoop,  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew. 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cowered  the  doe. 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Faint,  and  more  faint,  its  faiUng  din 
Retm-ned  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn. 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still. 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 

Less  loud  the  sounds  of  sylvan  war 
Disturbed  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 
And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old  : 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won. 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun, 
And  many  a  gallant,  stayed  per  force. 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse  ; 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near ; 
So  slirewdly,  on  the  mountain  side, 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 


SCOTT — VOL.    r. 

The  noble  Stag  was  pausing"  now, 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wandered  o*er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 
And  pondered  refuge  from  his  toil 
By  far  Lochard  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copse-wood  gray. 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 
And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Ben-venue. 
Fresh  vigour  with  the  hope  returned. 
With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spumed. 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race. 
And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er. 
As  swept  the  hunt  through  C  ambus-more ; 
What  reins  were  tightened  in  despair, 
When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air, 
Who  flagged  upon  Bochastle's  heath. 
Who  shunned  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, 
For  t\\'ice,  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  gallant  Stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far. 
That  reached  the  lake  of  Vennachar : 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won. 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 


SCOTT VOL.    r. 

Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal. 

That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 

For,  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil. 

Embossed  with  foam,  and  dark  witli  soil, 

While  eveiy  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew. 

The  labouring  stag  strained  full  in  view. 

Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 

Unmatched  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed. 

Fast  on  his  flying  traces  came. 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game ; 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  lengtli  from  his  haunch, 

Vindictive  toiled  the  blood-hounds  stanch  ; 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain. 

Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain. 

Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake. 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake. 

O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take- 

The  hunter  marked  that  mountain  high. 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary. 
And  deemed  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay, 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barred  the  way ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize, 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes ; 
For  the  death-wound,  and  death-halloo, 
Mustered  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew  , 
But,  thundering  as  he  came  prepared. 
With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared. 
The  wily  quarry  shunned  the  shock, 
Antl  turned  him  from  the  opposing-  rock  , 


10  SCOTT — VOL.    I. 

Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 

Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 

In  the  deep  Trosach's  wildest  nook 

His  solitary  refuge  took. 

There,  while,  close  couched,  the  thicket  shed 

Cold  dews  and  wild  flowers  on  his  head, 

He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 

Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  am^n, 

Cliiding  the  rocks  that  yelled  again. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came. 
To  cheer  them  on  the  vanished  game ; 
But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 
The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein. 
For  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er. 
Stretched  his  stiff  limbs  to  rise  no  more ; 
Then,  touched  with  pity  and  remorse. 
He  sorrowed  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 
"  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  slacked  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 
That  highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 
On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed  ! 
Wo  worth  the  chase,  wo  worth  the  day. 
That  costs  tliy  life,  my  gallant  gray  !" 

Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds. 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back  limped,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace. 


SCOTT — TOL,    I.  II 


The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase ; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  pressed, 
With  drooping-  tail  and  humble  crest ; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat 
Prolonged  the  swelling  bugle  note. 
The  owlets  started  from  their  dream. 
The  eagles  answered  with  their  scream, 
Eound  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast, 
TiU  echo  seemed  an  answering  blast ; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  pace. — 


BRIAHT   THE    HEEMIT. 

A  HEAP  of  withered  boughs  was  piled, 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild. 
Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak. 
Rent  by  the  hghtning's  recent  stroke. 
Brian,  the  hermit,  by  it  stood. 
Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood  ; 
His  grisled  beard  and  matted  hair 
Obscured  a  visage  of  despair; 
His  naked  ai-ms  and  legs,  seamed  o'er. 
The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore, 
That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face. 
The  impending  danger  of  his  race 
Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude. 
Far  in  Benhan'ow's  bosom  rude. 
Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest, 


3  2  SCOTT — TOL.    1. 

But  Druid's  from  the  grave  released, 

Whose  hardened  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look. 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mixed  in  the  charms  he  muttered  o'er  ; 

The  hallowed  creed  gave  only  worse 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse. 

No  peasant  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunned  with  care  ; 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound, 

And  in  mid  chase  called  off  his  hound  ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath. 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path, 

He  prayed,  and  signed  the  cross  between, 

While  teiTor  took  devotion's  mien. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. 
His  mother  watched  a  midnight  fold. 
Built  deep  within  a  dreaiy  glen. 
Where  scattered  lay  the  bones  of  men, 
In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 
And  bleached  by  drifting  wind  and  rai». 
It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart. 
To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art  : 
The  knot-grass  fettered  there  the  hand, 
Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band  ; 
Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone. 
That  bucklered  heart  to  fear  unknown, 
A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest. 
The  field-fare  framed  her  lowly  nest : 


SCOTT — VOL.    I, 

There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime 
On  tlie  fleet  limbs  that  mocked  at  time  ; 
And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull. 
Still  wreathed  with  chaplet  flushed  and  full, 
Por  heath-bell,  with  her  purple  bloom, 
Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume. 
All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 
Sate  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade  : 
She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side, 
No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied. 
Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear  ; 
Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport. 
Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short. 
Nor  sought  she,  from  that  ftital  night, 
Or  holy  church  or  blessed  rite. 
But  locked  her  secret  in  her  breast, 
And  died  in  ti'avail,  unconfessed. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers. 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy. 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy. 
Bearing  each  taunt  with  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  hneage  flung. 
Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail, 
Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received 
What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 
B 


14  SCOTT — vor.  1, 

And  soug'litj  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 
To  meet  and  know  his  Pliantom  Sire  I 
In  vain,  to  sooth  his  wayward  fate. 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate  ; 
In  vain,  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unclasped  her  sable-lettered  page  : 
E'en  in  its  treasures  he  could  find 
Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 
Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 
Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells. 
And  every  dark  pursuit  allied 
To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride, 
Till,  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'erstrai 
And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung. 
Desperate  he  souglit  Benharrow's  den, 
And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 


MALCOLM    GR^ME. 

Or  stature  fair,  and  slender  frame, 
But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 
The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 
Did  ne'er  more  giaceful  limbs  disclose  ; 
His  flaxen  hair,  of  sunny  hue, 
Curled  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue  : 
Trained  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 
The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy  ! 
Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake  and  heath. 


SCOTT TOl.    I. 


15 


He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith  ; 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark  brown  doe, 

When  Malcohn  bent  his  sounding-  bow. 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  winged  with  fear. 

Out-stripped  in  speed  the  mountaineer  : 

Riglit  up  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind  : 

A  bhther  heart,  till  Ellen  came. 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame  ; 

It  danced  as  hghtsome  in  his  breast. 

As  played  the  feather  on  his  crest. 

Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  the  youtli. 

His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth. 

And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold. 

When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old. 

Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 

Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 

Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame 

But  qu^  to  tliat  of  Malcolm  Graeme. 


HODERICK    VICn    ALPINE. 


But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these 
My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 
No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspen';*  wake. 
Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake  ^ 


16  SCOTT VOL.    I, 

Still  is  the  canna's*  hoary  beard — 
Yet,  by  my  minsti'el  faith,  I  heard — 
And  hark  again  !  some  pipe  of  war 
Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar. — 

Far  up  the  lengthened  lake  were  spied 
Foul*  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide. 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view 
Four  manned  and  masted  barges  grew, 
And  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 
Steered  full  upon  the  lonely  isle  ; 
The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  passed. 
And  to  the  windward  as  they  cast. 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine. 
The  bold  Rir  Roderick's  bannered  pine. 
Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear, 
Spears,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 
Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave. 
And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave  ; 
Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise. 
As  bis  tough  oar  the  rower  plies  ; 
See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke. 
The  wave  ascending  into  smoke  ; 
See  the  preud  pipers  on  the  bow, 
And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 
From  their  loud  chantersf  down,  and  sweep, 
The  furrowed  bosom  of  the  deep. 
As,  rushing  through  the  lake,  amain 
They  pHed  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

*  Cotton  ^ass.  t  The  drone  of  the  bag-pipe. 


SCOTT VOL.    1.  17 


Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 
And  louder  rung-  the  pibroch  proud. 
At  first  the  sounds,  by  distance  tame, 
Mellowed  along"  the  waters  came. 
And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay. 
Wailed  every  harsher  note  away  ; 
Then,  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear. 
The  clan's  shrill  gathering  they  could  hear 
Those  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 
Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight  : 
Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 
The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 
And  hurrying  at  the  signal-dread. 
The  battered  earth  returns  their  tread  ; 
Then  prelude  light  of  livelier  tone. 
Expressed  their  merry  marching  on, 
Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose. 
With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows  ; 
And  mimic  dhi  of  stroke  and  ward. 
As  broadsword  upon  target  jan-ed  ; 
And  groaning  pause,  e'er  yet  again. 
Condensed,  the  battle  yelled  amain  ; 
The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout. 
Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout ; 
And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 
Clan-Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 
Nor  ended  thus  the  strain  ;  but  slow. 
Sunk  in  a  moan  prolonged  and  low, 
B  2 


18  SCOTT — VOL.    r. 

And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 
For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

The  war-pipes  ceased  :  biit  lake  and  hill 
Were  busy  with  theu'  echoes  still, 
And  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  hoarse  choiiis  wake  again. 
While  loud  a  hundred  clans-men  raise 
Their  voices  in  their  chieftain's  praise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar. 
With  measured  sweep  the  burthen  bore, 
In  such  wild  cadence,  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees  : 
The  chorus  first  could  Allan  know, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine,  ho  !  iero  !" 
And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  rowed. 
Distinct  the  martial  ditty  flowed. 

Hail  to  the  chief  who  in  triumph  advances. 

Honoured  and  blessed  be  the  ever-green  pine  ' 

Long  may  the  tree  in  his  banner  that  glances, 

Flom-ish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line  ! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew. 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 

Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 

While  every  highland  glen 

Sends  our  shout  back  agen, 

**  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !"* 

*  Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which  were  chiefly  used  in 
his  intercourse  vnih  the  Lowlands,  every  Highland  chief  had  an  epithet 
expressive  of  his  patriarchal  dignity  as  head  of  the  clan,  and  which  was 


SCOTT vol.  1.  19 

Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain. 

Blooming-  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade, 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stripped  eveiy  leaf  on 
the  mountain. 
The  more  shall  Clan  Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moored  in  the  rifted  rock. 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock. 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow  ; 
Menteith  and  Bredalbane,  then. 
Echo  his  praise  ag-en, 
"Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !" 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrilled  in  Glen  Fruin, 
And  Banochar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied. 

Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin. 
And  the  best  of  Loch-Lomond  he  dead  on  her  side. 
Widow  and  Saxon  maid 

fommon  to  all  his  predecessors  and  successors,  as  Pharaoh  to  the  kings  of 
E^ypt,  or  Arsaces  to  those  of  Pa'thia.  This  name  was  usually  a  patrony- 
mic expressive  of  his  descent  from  the  founder  of  the  family.  Thus  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  is  called  Mac  Callanmore,  or  the  Son  of  Colin  the  Great.  Some- 
times, however,  it  is  derived  from  armorial  distiiictions,  or  the  memoiyof 
some  gi-eat  feat:  thus  Lord  Seaforth,  as  chief  of  the  Mackenzies,  or  Clan- 
Kennet,  bears  the  epithet  of  Caber-fae,  or  Buck^s  Head,  as  representative  of 
Colin  Fitzgerald,  founder  of  the  family,  who  saved  the  Scottish  King  when 
endangered  by  a  stag.  But  beside  this  title,  which  belonged  to  his  office 
and  dignity,  the  chieftain  had  usually  another  peculiar  to  himself,  which 
distinguished  him  from  the  chieftains  of  the  same  race.  This  was  some- 
times derived  from  complexion,  as  dhu  or  roy;  sometimes  from  size,  as  beg 
or  more ;  at  other  times  from  some  particular  exploit,  or  from  some  pecu- 
liarity of  habit  or  appearance.    The  line  of  the  text  signifies, 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  sorrans,  or  boat-songs 
of  the  Highlanders,  which  were  usually  composed  in  honour  of  a  favourite 
chief.  They  are  so  adapted  as  to  keep  time  with  the  sweep  of  the  oars, 
and  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  between  those  intended  to  be  sung  to  the  oars 
©f  a  galley,  where  the  sti-oke  is  lengthened  and  doubled  as  it  were^  and 
those  which  were  timed  to  the  rowers  of  an  ordinai-y  boat. 


20  SCOTT — TOI.    1. 

Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan-Alpine  with  fear  and  with  wo  ; 

Lennox  and  Leven-glen 

Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 
"Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !" 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands  ! 

Sti'etch  to  your  oars,  for  tlie  ever-green  pine  ! 
O  !  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands. 

Were  wreathed  in  a  gai-land  around  him  to  twine  ! 
O  that  some  seedling  gem, 
Worthy  such  noble  stem. 
Honoured  and  blessed  in  their  shadow  might  grow  ! 
Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then 
Ring  from  her  deepest  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  !" 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band. 
Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 
Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew. 
And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw. 
As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim. 
And  chorus  wild,  the  chieftain's  name  ; 
While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art. 
The  darhng  passion  of  his  heart. 
The  dame  called  EUen  to  the  strand, 
To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land  : 
*'  Come,  loiterer,  come  !  a  Douglas  thou, 
And  shun  to  wreath  a  victor's  brow  ?" — 
Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 


SCOTT \OU   I. 

The  unwelcome  summoning  obeyed. 

\nd,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung. 

In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung  ! — 

**  List,  Allan-bane  !  from  main-land  cast, 

I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 

Be  ours,"  slie  cried,  "the  skiff  to  guide, 

And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 

Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright. 

She  darted  to  her  shallop  light. 

And  eagerly  while  Roderick  scanned. 

For  her  dear  form  his  mother's  band, 

The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 

And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given. 

With  less  of  earth  to  them  than  heaven  j 

And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 

From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 

A  tear  so  hmpid  and  so  meek, 

It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 

'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 

Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head  ! 


21 


AMBUSCADE. 


He  whistled  shriD, 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill  ; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 


22  SrOTT VOL.    J. 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

Bonnets  and  spears,  and  bended  bows  ; 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe  ; 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start. 

The  bracken-bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife. 

That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men. 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will. 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still ; 

Like  the  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass. 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  ui'ge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge  : 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-James — "  How  say'st  thou  now  ' 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true  : 

And,  Saxon — I  am  Roderick  Dhu  !" 


SCOTT VOL.    I,  23 

i'llz -James  was  brave  : — Though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrilled  with  sudden  start, 

He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air. 

Returned  the  Ciiief  his  haug-hty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before  : 

*'Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I." — 

Sir  Roderick  marked — and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foeman  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand  . 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band  ; 

Each  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood. 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood  ; 

Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low  ; 

It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

Had  swallowed  up  her  warlike  birth. 

The  wind's  last  breath  Ivid  tossed  in  air 

Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair  ; 

The  next,  but  swept  a  lone  hill  side. 

Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide; 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back. 

From  lance  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack-— 

The  next,  all  unrellected,  shone 

On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 


24  SCOTT — TOI.  I. 

Fitz-James  looked  round — yet  scarce  believed 

The  witness  that  his  sig-ht  received  ; 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 

Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Sii'  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed. 

And  to  his  look  the  Chief  rephed, 

**  Fear  nought — nay,  that  I  need  not  say — 

But — doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Thou  art  my  guest ;  I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford  : 

Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand. 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 

Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael. 

So  move  we  on  ;  I  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu." 

They  moved  : — I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave 

As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive  ; 

Yet  dare  not  say,  that  now  his  blood 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  tempered  flood. 

As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 

That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  tlirough. 

Which  yet,  by  feaiful  proof,  was  rife 

With  lances,  that  to  take  his  life 

Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide. 

So  late  dishonoured  and  defied. 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eyes  sought  round 


SCOTT — yoi.  I.  25 


rhe  vanished  guardians  of  the  ground. 
And  still  from  copse  and  heather  deep, 
Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep, 
And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain. 
The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 
Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 
The  pass  was  left,  for  then  they  wind 
Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 
Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 
Nor  rush,  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 


THE    MAVIAC. 


Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Ai-ound  a  precipice's  edge ; 
When  lo  !  a  wasted  female  form. 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tattered  weeds  and  wild  array, 
Stood  on  a  chff  beside  the  way, 
And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye, 
Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky. 
Seemed  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 
Her  brow  was  wreathed  with  gaudy  broom 
With  gesture  wild  slie  waved  a  plume 
C 


■^6  SCOTT— VOL.  r. 

of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 
To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing ; 
Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought. 
Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 
The  tai'tan  plaid  she  fii-st  descried, 
And  shrieked,  till  all  the  rocks  replied ; 
As  loud  she  laughed  when  near  they  drew, 
For  then  the  lowland  garb  she  knew ; 
And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung, 
And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung. — 
She  sung  ! — the  voice,  in  better  time. 
Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime ; 
And  now,  though  strained  and  roughened,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill. 

They  bid  me  sleep,  thej  bid  me  pray. 

They  say  my  brain  is  wai'ped  and  wrung — 
I  cannot  sleep  on  highland  brae, 

I  cannot  pray  in  highland  tongue. 
But  were  1  now  where  Allan  ghdes. 
Or  heard  m.y  native  Devan's  tides. 
So  sweetly  would  I  rest  and  pray 
That  Heaven  would  close  my  wintery  day  • 
'Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid, 

They  bade  me  to  the  church  repair ; 
It  was  my  bridal  morn,  tliey  said. 

And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there- 
But  wo  betide  the  cruel  guile. 
That  drowned  in  blood  the  morning  smile  ? 


SCOTT — VOL.   I.  27 


And  wo  betide  the  fi^ry  dream  ! 
I  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream. 

**  Who  is  this  maidi*  what  means  her  lay  ' 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way. 
And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  gray, 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing, 
By  twilig-ht  o'er  a  haunted  spring." 
*♦  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan.'* 


THE    GOBtlN    CAVE, 

Now,  wot  ye  why 
The  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 
Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair. 
This  western  frontier  scanned  with  care  ?- 
In  Ben-venue's  most  darksome  cleft, 
A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true. 
That  morning  irom  the  isle  withdrew, 
And  in  a  deep  sequestered  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 
By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung ; 
aV.  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave. 
And  called  the  grot  the  Coblin-cave 


-28  SCOTT — TOI.  I. 

It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell  upon  the  mountain's  crest 
Yawned  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast  .- 
Its  trench  liad  stayed  full  many  a  rock. 
Hurled  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Ben-venue's  gray  summit  wild. 
And  here,  in  random  i-uin  piled, 
They  frowned  incumbent  o'er  the  spot. 
And  formed  the  rugged  sylvan  grot. 
The  oak  and  birch,  w'lih  mingled  shade. 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made. 
Unless  when  shoii:  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone. 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth.  Futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still. 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break. 
With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
vSuspended  cliffs,  with  hideous  sway. 
Seemed  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung. 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young  : 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair. 
Sought,  for  a  space,  theii-  safety  there. 
Gray  Superstition's  whisper  dread 


fiCOTT — VOL.   I. 

Debarred  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort. 
And  satyrs*  hold  their  sylvan  court, 
By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 


The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed. 
The  brackenf  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread. 

Far,  far  from  love  and  thee,  Mary ; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid. 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid. 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid  i 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary  ! 
I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 
The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 
I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow. 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know ; 
When  burst  Clan- Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow. 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 
A  time  will  come  with  feehng  fraught ! 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary. 

*  The  Urhk,  or  Highland  satyr.  t  Brflc Aen— Fern. 

C  2 


SCOTT — vol.  ir. 


And  if  returned  from  conquered  foes, 
How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 
To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary  I 


MELBOSE   ABBET* 

If  thou  would'st  view  fair  Melrose*  aright, 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonUght ; 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild  but  to  flout  the  ruins  gray. 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night. 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white ; 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  mined  central  tower ; 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory: 

W^hen  silver  edges  the  imagery. 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die ; 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave. 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave. 

Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  Saint  David's  ruined  pile ; 

*  The  ancient  and  beautiful  monastery  of  Melrose  was  founded  by 
King  David  I.  Its  ruins  afford  the  finest  specimen  cf  Gothic  architecture, 
and  Gothic  sculpture,  which  Scotland  can  boast-  The  stone  of  wliich  it 
is  built,  thougli  it  has  resisted  the  weather  for  so  many  ages,  retains  per- 
fect sharpness,  so  that  even  the  most  minute  ornaments  seem  as  entire  as 
when  newly  wrought. 


SCOTT vol.  IJ.  31 


And  home  retui'ning,  Soothly  swear, 
Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair! 


DELOUAIKE  S  KIGHT  JOURNEY. 

The  Ladye  forgot  her  purpose  hig-h. 

One  moment,  and  no  more ; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye, 

As  she  paused  at  the  arched  door ; 
Then,  from  amid  the  armed  train. 
She  called  to  her  William  of  Deloraine. 

A  stark  mosstrooping  Scott  was  he. 
As  e'er  couched  border  lance  by  knee ; 
Through  Sol  way  sands,  through  Tarros  moss ; 
Blindfold  he  knew  the  paths  to  cross ; 
By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds. 
Had  baffled  Percy's  best  bloodhounds;* 

*  The  kin^s  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the  Boi-der-rlders,  were 
sometimes  oblijjed  to  study  how  to  evade  the  pursuit  of  blood-hounds. 
Barbour  inforius  us,  that  Robert  Bruce  was  repeatedly  tracked  by  sleuth- 
dogs.  On  one  occasion,  he  escaped  by  wading  a  bow-shot  down  a  brook, 
and  ascending  into  a  tree  by  a  l)rancli  which  ovsrhung  the  water  :  thus 
leaving  no  trace  on  land  of  his  footsteps,  he  baffled  the  sctnt. 

A  sure  way  of  stopping  the  dog  was  to  spill  blood  upon  the  track, 
which  destroyed  the  discriminating  fineness  of  his  scent.  A  captive  was 
sometimes  sacrificed  on  such  occasions.  Heni-j,  the  Minstrel,  tells  a  ro- 
mantic story  of  Wallace,  foundid  on  this  eircvunstance  : — The  hei'o's  lit- 
tle b.ind  had  been  joined  by  an  Irishman,  named  Fawdon,  or  Fadzean,  a 
dark,  savage,  and  suspiciouscharacler.  After  a  sharp  skirmish  at  Black- 
Efiie  Sidi-,  Wallace  was  forced  to  retreat  with  oniy  sixteen  followers. 
The  English  pursued  with  a  border  slei'ih-bratch,  or  blood-hour.d.  In 
tlie  rrtr.  at,  Fawdon,  tired,  or  afFicting  to  be  so,  would  go  no  farther: 
Wallace,  having  in  vain  argued  with  him,  in  hasty  anger  struck  oft"  his 
head,  and  continui-d  the  retreat.  When  the  English  came  upj  their 
hound  stayed  upon  the  dead  body  :— 

The  sleuth  stopped  at  Fawdon,  till  she  stood. 
Nor  farther  would  frae  time  she  fund  the  blood. 


SCOTT TOL.    I/. 

In  Eske,  or  Liddel,  fords  were  none. 
But  he  would  ride  them  one  by  one  ^ 
Ahke  to  him  was  time,  or  tide, 
December's  snow,  or  July's  pride  ; 
Alike  to  him  was  tide,  or  time. 
Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime ; 
Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand. 
As  ever  di'ove  prey  from  Cumberland  ; 
Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been. 
By  England's  king  and  Scotland's  queen. 

*'  Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need^ 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed ; 
Spare  not  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride. 
Until  thou  come  to  fair  Tweed  side ; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile 
Seek  thou  the  monk  of  St.  Maiy's  aisle. 

Greet  the  father  well  from  me ; 
Say,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 

And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee. 
To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb : 
For  this  will  be  Saint  Michael's  night. 
And,  though  stars  be  dim,  the  moon  is  bright . 
And  the  cross,  of  bloody  red, 
Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

**  What  he  g  ves  thee,  see  thou  keep  ; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep. 
Be  it  scroll,  or  be  it  book, 
Into  it,  knight,  thou  must  not  look  ,• 


SCOTT — VOL.  ir.  33 

f  f  thou  readest  thou  art  lorn ! 
Better  hadst  thou  ne'er  been  born." 

**  O  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapplegray  steed. 

Which  drinks  of  the  Teviot  clear; 

Ere  break  of  day,"  the  warrior  'gan  say, 

"Again  will  I  be  here: 
And  safer  by  none  may  thy  errand  be  done, 

Than,  noble  dame,  by  me ; 
Letter  nor  hne  know  I  never  a  one, 
Wer't  my  neck-verse  at  Haribee."* 

Soon  in  his  saddle  sate  he  fast. 

And  soon  the  steep  descent  he  passed. 

Soon  crossed  the  sounding-  barbican,f 

And  soon  the  Teviot's  side  he  won. 

Eastward  the  wooded  path  he  rode. 

Green  hazels  o'er  his  basnet  nod  : 

He  passed  the  Peell:  of  Goldiland, 

And  crossed  old  Borthwick's  roaring  strand ; 

Dimly  he  viewed  the  moathill's  mound. 

Where  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round  ; 

In  Hawick  twinkled  many  a  light ; 

Behind  him  soon  they  set  in  night ; 

And  soon  he  spurred  his  courser  keen 

Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeldean. 

*  Haribee,  the  place  of  executing  the  Border  marauders  at  Carlisle. 
The  neck-verse  in  the  beginning  of  the  fifty-first  psalm,  Miserere  ?n€i, 
5cc.  anciently  read  by  criminals,  claiming  the  benefit  of  clergy. 

t  Barbican,  the  defence  of  the  outer  gate  of  a  feudal  castle. 
'  Peel,  a  Border  tower. 


34  SCOTT — ^VOL.  II. 

The  clattering  hoofs  the  watchmen  mark  ;— 
«  Stand,  ho  !  thou  courier  of  the  dark." 
"  For  Branksome,  ho  !"  the  knight  rejoined. 
And  left  the  friendly  tower  behind. 

He  turned  him  now  from  Teviot  side. 
And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill. 

Northward  the  dark  ascent  did  ride. 
And  gained  the  moor  at  Horselie  hill  -- 
Broad  on  the  left  before  him  lay. 
For  many  a  mile,  the  Roman  way.* 

A  moment  now  he  slacked  his  speed, 
A  moment  breathed  his  panting  steed ; 
Drew  saddlegirth  and  corselet-band, 
And  loosened  in  the  sheath  his  brand. 
On  Minto-cragsf  the  moonbeams  glint. 
Where  Barnhills  hewed  his  bed  of  flint  -, 
Who  flung  his  outlawed  limbs  to  rest» 
Where  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest, 
Mid  chffs,  from  v/hence  his  eagle  eye. 
For  many  a  league,  his  prey  could  spy  ,- 
CllflPs,  doubling,  on  their  echoes  borne. 
The  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn ; 
Cliffs,  which,  for  many  a  later  year, 

*  An  ancient  Roman  road,  crossing  through  part  of  Roxburghshire. 

+  A  romantic  assemblage  of  cliffs,  which  rise  suddenlj'  a])i)Vt'  the  valft 
of  Ttviot,  in  the  iinmt  diate  vicinity  of  the  family-seat  from  %%  hich  Lord 
Minto  takes  his  title.  A  small  pJatfarm,  on  a  projecting  crag,  command- 
ing a  most  beautiful  prospect,  is  termed  Barnhills''  Bed.  TJiis  Barnhills  is 
said  to  have  b>  en  a  robber,  or  outlaw.  There  are  remains  of  a  strong 
tower  beneath  the  rocks,  where  he  is  supposed  to  have  dwelt,  and  from 
which  he  derived  his  name. 


SCOTT — VOL.  Il»  35 

The  wju'bling  Doric  reed  shall  hear. 
When  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  no  ctu'e  for  love. 

Unchallenged,  thence  past  Deloraine 
To  ancient  Riddell's  fair  domain. 

Where  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 
Down  from  the  lakes  did  raving  come ; 
Each  wave  was  crested  with  tawny  foam, 

Like  the  mane  of  a  chesnut  steed. 
In  vain  !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad. 
Might  bar  the  bold  mosstrooper*s  road. 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low. 

And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddle  bow  ; 

Above  the  foaming  tide,  I  ween. 

Scarce  half  the  charger's  neck  was  seen ; 

For  he  was  barded*  from  counter  to  tail. 

And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail ; 

Never  heavier  man  nor  horse 

Stemmed  a  midnight  torrent's  force. 

The  warrior's  very  plume,  I  say. 

Was  daggled  by  the  dashing  spray ; 

Yet,  tlirough  good  heart,  and  our  Ladye's  grace. 

At  length  he  gained  the  landing  place. 

Now  Bowden  moor  the  marchman  won, 

And  sternly  shook  his  plumed  head. 

As  glanced  his  eye  o'er  Halidon  ;•)■ 

•  Bardedy  or  barbed,  applied  to  a  horse  accoutred  with  defensive  at" 
niour. 

+  HaHdon-hiU,  on  which  the  battle  of  Melrose  was  fought. 


36  SCOTT VOL   I  J. 

Tor  on  his  soul  the  slaughter  red 
Of  that  unhallowed  mom  arose, 
When  first  the  Scott  and  Car  were  I'oes  j 
When  royal  James  beheld  the  fray. 
Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day ; 
When  Home  and  Douglas,  in  the  van. 
Bore  down  Buccleugh's  retiring  clan. 
Till  gallant  Cessford's  heartblood  dear 
Reeked  on  dark  Elliot's  Border  spear. 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast. 

And  soon  the  hated  heath  was  past ; 

And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan, 

Old  Melrose  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran  ; 

Like  some  tall  rock,  with  Uchens  gi'ay. 

Seemed,  dimly  huge,  the  dai'k  Abbaye. 

When  Hawick  he  passed,  had  curfew  rung. 

Now  midnight  laudsf  were  in  Melrose  sung. 

The  sound,  upon  the  fitful  gale. 

In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail. 

Like  that  wild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 

Is  wakened  by  the  winds  alone. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reached,  'twas  silence  all 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall. 

And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall. 

With  dagger's  hilt,  on  the  wicket  strong. 
He  struck  full  loud,  and  struck  full  long. 
t  Laudsy  the  midnight  service  of  the  Catholic  chuicli. 


SCOTT — VOL.   It. 

The  porter  humed  to  tlie  gate — 
*•  Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  late  ?" 
**  From  Branksome  I,"  the  warrior  cried  ; 
And  straight  the  wicket  opened  wide  : 
For  Branksome's  chiefs  had  in  battle  stood. 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose ; 
And  lands  and  livings,  many  a  rood, 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  souls'  repose- 
Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said ; 
The  porter  bent  his  humble  head  ; 
With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod. 
And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod  : 
The  arched  cloisters,  far  and  wide. 
Rang  to  the  warrior's  clanking  stride  ; 
Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest. 
He  entered  the  ceil  of  the  ancient  priest, 
And  lifted  his  ban-ed  aventayle,* 
To  hail  the  monk  of  Saint  Mary's  aisle. 

"  The  Ladye  of  Branksome  gi-eets  thee  by  i?.e 

Says,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come. 
And  that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee. 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  couch  the  monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stiffened  limbs  he  reared  • 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  his  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 

*  Aventayle,  visor  of  the  helmet. 
D 


%(  fjlT— TOL.  in 

And  strangely  on  the  knight  looked  he. 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  wild  and  wide  .: 
**  And,  darest  thou,  warrior  !  seek  to  see 

What  heaven  and  hell  alike  would  hide  ' 
My  breast,  in  belt  of  iron  pent, 
With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn  ; 
For  threescore  years,  in  penance  spent, 

My\knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn  ^ 
Yet  all  too  little  to  atone 
For  know  ing  what  should  ne'er  be  known 

Would'st  thou  thy  every  future  year 

In  ceaseless  prayer  and  penance  drie. 
Yet  wait  thy  latter  end  with  fear —     - 

Then,  daring  warrior,  follow  me  1" 

"  Penance,  father,  will  I  none  ; 

Prayer  know  I  hardly  one  : 

For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tany_. 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray  -. 

Other  prayer  can  I  none  ; 

So  speed  me  my  errand,  and  let  me  be  gone.' 

Again  on  the  knight  looked  the  churchman  old. 

And  again  he  sighed  heavily. 
For  he  had  himself  been  a  wanior  bold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  he  thought  on  the  days  that  were  long  since  by, 
When  his  hmbs  were  strong,  and  his  courage  was  high : 
Now,  slow  and  faint,  he  led  the  way. 


SCOTT vol.  II.  39 

Where,  cloistered  round,  the  g-arden  lay  : 
The  pillared  arches  were  over  tlieir  head. 
And  beneath  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  the  dead.* 

Spreading  herbs,  and  flow'rets  bright, 
Glistened  with  the  dew  of  night : 
Nor  herb,  nor  flow'ret,  glistened  there. 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister  arches  as  fair. 
The  monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon, 

Then  into  the  night  he  looked  forth  ; 
And  red  and  bright  the  streamers  light 
Were  dancing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start ; 
Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel. 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. 
He  knew,  by  the  streamers  that  shot  so  bright^ 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door, 

They  entered  now  the  chancel  tall : 
The  darkened  roof  rose  high  aloof 

On  pillars,  lofty,  and  light,  and  small ; 
The  keystone,  that  locked  each  ribbed  aisle, 
Was  a  fleur-de-lys,  or  a  quatre-feuille  : 
The  corbells-j-  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim  ; 

*  The  cloisters  ^vere  frequently  used  as  places  of  sepulture.  An  instance 
occurs  in  Drj  burgh  Abbey,  where  tlie  cloister  has  an  inscription,  bearing, 
Hie  jacet  f rater  Archibaldus. 

t  Corbells,  the  projections  from  which  the  nrche*  spring,  usually  cut  ijj 
a  fantastic  face  or  mask. 


40 


StOTT — VOL.  Ij. 


And  the  pillars,  with  clustered  shafts  so  trim, 
With  base  and  with  capital  flourished  around, 
Seemed  bundles  of  lances  which  garlands  had  bound. 

Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  banner,  riven. 
Shook  to  the  cold  nig-lit-wind  of  heaven, 

Around  the  screened  altar's  pale  ; 
And  there  the  dying-  lamps  did  bum, 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 
O  gallant  chief  of  Otterburne  !* 

And  thine,  dark  knight  of  Liddesdale  ! 
O  fading  honours  of  the  dead  ! 
O  high  ambition  lowly  laid  ! 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone. 

By  foliaged  traceiy  combined  : 
Thou  would'st  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  osier  wand, 

In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twined ; 
Then  framed  a  spell  when  the  work  was  done, 

*  The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otterburne  was  fought  15th  Ao- 
^st,  1388,  betwixt  Henry  Percy,  called  Hotspur,  and  James  Earl  of 
Douglas.  Both  these  renowned  champions  were  at  the  head  of  a  chosen 
body  of  troops,  and  they  were  rivals  in  military  fame,  so  that  Froissart  af- 
liriiis,  ''Of  all  the  batayles  and  eneounteryngs  that  I  have  made  mention 
of  here  before  in  all  this  hystory,  great. or  smaile,  this  batayie  that  I  treat 
of  nowe  was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  foughten,  m  ithout  cowardes  or 
fajTttte  heites;  for  there  was  neyther  knyghte  nor  squyer  but  that  dyde  his 
devoyre,  and  fought  hande  to  hande.  This  batayie  v  as  iyke  the  batayie 
of  Becherell  the  which  was  valiantly  fought  and  endured."  The  issue' of 
the  conflict  is  well  known.  Percy  was  made  prisoner,  and  the  Scots  Mon 
the  day,  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of  their  gallant  general,  the  Earl 
of  Doug'as,  who  was  slain  in  the  action.  He  m  as  buried  at  Melrose  beneath 
the  high  altar.  "  His  obsequye  w  as  done  reverently,  and  on  his  bodye  layde 
a  tombe  of  stone,  and  his  baner  hangyng  over  hym.^'—Frvissart, 


StOTT TOL.    II.  41 

\nd  chang-ed  the  willow  wreaths  to  stone. 
"I'he  silver  lig"lit,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Showed  many  a  prophet  and  many  a  saint 

Whose  image  on  the  glass  was  died  5 
Full  in  the  midst,  his  cross  of  red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished. 

And  trampled  the  apostate's  pride. 
The  moonbeam  kissed  the  holy  pane, 
And  threw  on  the  pavement  a  bloody  stain. 

They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone  ; 

(A  Scottish  monarch  slept  below  ;) 
Thus  spoke  the  monk  in  solemn  tone  ; — 

**  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  wo  ; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod, 
And  fought  beneath  the  cross  of  God  : 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  amis  appear. 
And  their  iron  clang  sounds  strange  to  my  ear. 

"  In  these  far  climes,  it  was  my  lot 

To  meet  the  wonderous  Michael  Scott  ;* 

A  wizard  of  such  dreaded  fame. 
That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave. 
Him  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wa\e, 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame  I 

*  Sir  Michael  Scott  of  Balwcarie  flourished  during  the  I3th  century,  and 
was  one  of  the  ambassadors  sent  to  bring  the  Maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland 
Hpon  the  deatli  of  Alexander  III.  He  was  a  man  of  much  learning',  chief- 
ly acqiiired  in  foreign  countries.  He  wrote  a  commentary  upon  Aristotle, 
printed  at  Venice  in  1496 ;  and  several  treatises  upon  natural  philosophy, 
from  which  he  appears  to  have  been  addicted  to  the  abstruse  studies  of  ju- 
dicial astrology,  alchymy,  physiogiioniy,  and  chiromancy.  Hence  he  passed 
among  his  contemporaries  for  a  skilful  magician. 
D  2 


42  SCOTT VOL.   n. 

Some  of  his  skill  he  taug-hf  to  me  ; 

And,  warrior,  I  could  say  to  thee 

The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three. 

And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  stone  ; 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin  ; 
And  for  having  but  thoug-ht  them  my  heart  within, 

A  treble  penance  must  be  done. 

"  When  Michael  lay  on  his  dying*  bed. 

His  conscience  was  awakened  ; 

He  bethought  him  of  his  sinful  deed. 

And  he  gave  me  a  sign  to  come  with  speed  ,• 

I  was  in  Spain  when  the  morning  rose. 

But  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 

The  words  may  not  again  be  said. 

That  he  spoke  to  me,  on  death-bed  laid  ; 

They  would  rend  this  Abbaye's  massy  nave. 

And  pile  it  in  heaps  above  his  grave. 

"  I  swore  to  bury  his  mighty  book, 

That  never  mortal  might  therein  look  5 

And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  hid. 

Save  at  the  chief  of  Branksome's  need  ; 

And  \\hen  that  need  was  past  and  o'er. 

Again  the  volume  to  restore. 

I  buried  him  on  Saint  Michael's  night. 

When  the  bell  tolled  one,  and  the  moon  was  bright. 

And  I  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead. 

When  the  floor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red. 


SCOTT VOL.  ir.  4fi 

That  his  patron's  cross  might  over  him  wave. 
And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  wizard's  gn-ave, 

"  It  was  a  night  of  wo  and  di'ead. 

When  Michael  in  the  tomb  I  laid  ! 

Strang-e  sounds  along-  the  chancel  past  5 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast," — 

— Still  spoke  the  monk,  when  the  bell  tolled  one  I 

I  tell  you  that  a  braver  man 

Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 

Against  a  foe  ne'er  spurred  a  steed  ; 

Yet  somewhat  was  he  chilled  with  dread, 

And  his  hair  did  bristle  upon  his  head. 

*'  Lo,  warrior  !  now,  the  cross  of  red, 

Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead  ; 

Within  it  burns  a  wonderous  hght 

To  chase  the  spirits  that  love  the  night ; 

That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchably, 

Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be." 

Slow  moved  the  monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone. 

Which  the  bloody  cross  was  traced  upon ; 

He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook  5 

An  iron  bar  the  warrior  took ; 

And  the  monk  made  a  sign  with  his  withered  hand. 

The  gi'ave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

With  beating  heart,  to  the  task  he  went  j 
His  sinewy  frame  o'er  the  gi-ave-stone  bent ; 
With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amain. 


44  SCOTT — VOL.   II. 

Till  the  toil  drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  rain; 

It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 

That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 

I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 

How  the  hght  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 

Sti-eamed  upward  to  the  chancel  roof. 

And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof ! 

No  eai-thly  flame  blazed  e'er  so  bright ; 

It  shone  hke  heaven's  own  blessed  light ; 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Showed  the  monk's  cowl  and  visage  pale, 
Danced  on  the  dark-brown  warrior's  mail, 

And  kissed  his  waving  plume. 

Before  theu*  eyes  the  wizard  lay. 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  beard  in  silver  rolled. 
He  seemed  some  seventy  winters  old  : 
A  palmer's  amice  wrapped  him  round  ; 
With  a  wrought  Sjjanish  baldric  bound. 

Like  a  pilginm  from  beyond  the  sea ; 
His  left  hand  held  his  book  of  might ; 
A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right ; 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee  ; 
High  and  majestic  was  his  look. 
At  which  the  fellest  fiends  had  shook. 
And  all  unruffled  was  his  face — 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace. 


SCOTT VOL,  ir.  45 

often  had  William  of  Deloraine 
Rode  throug-h  the  battle's  bloody  plaii\, 
And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain, 

And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe  ; 
Yet  now  remorse  and  awe  he  own£d ; 
His  breath  came  thick,  his  head  swam  round, 

When  this  strange  scene  of  death  he  saw. 
Bewildered  and  unnerved  he  stood. 
And  the  priest  prayed  fervently  and  loud  ;  ^ 

With  eyes  averted,  prayed  he, 
He  might  not  endure  the  sight  to  see. 
Of  the  man  he  had  loved  so  brotherly. 

And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had  prayet^. 

Thus  unto  Deloraine  he  said ; — 

"Now,  speed  thee  what  thou  hast  to  do, 

Or,  wamor,  we  may  dearly  rue  ; 

For  those,  thou  may'st  not  look  upon. 

Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone  !"— 

Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 

From  the  cold  hand  the  mighty  book, 

With  iron  clasped,  and  with  iron  bound ; 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frowned  . 

But  the  glare  of  the  sepulchral  light. 

Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  warrior's  sight. 

When  the  huge  stone  sunk  o'er  the  tomb. 

The  night  returned  in  double  gloom ; 

For  tlie  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stai-s  were  few; 

And,  as  the  knight  and  priest  withdrew, 


46  SCOTT — VOL.  II. 

With  wavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain. 

They  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 

'Tis  said  as  through  the  aisles  they  passed, 

'I'hey  heard  strange  noises  on  the  blast ; 

And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small, 

Which  at  midheight  thread  the  chancel  wall. 

Loud  sobs,  and  laughter  louder,  ran, 

And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man  ; 

As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday. 

Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 

I  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be  ; 

I  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

"Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  father  said; 
"And,  when  we  are  on  death-bed  laid, 
O  may  our  dear  Ladye,  and  sweet  Saint  John, 
Forgive  our  souls  for  the  deed  we  have  done  !" 
The  monk  returned  him  to  his  cell. 

And  many  a  prayer  and  penance  sped ; 
When  tlie  convent  met  at  the  noontide  bell — 

The  monk  of  Saint  Mark's  aisle  was  dead  ! 
Before  the  cross  was  the  body  laid. 
With  hands  clasped  fast,  as  if  still  he  prayed. 

The  knight  breathed  free  in  the  morning  wind. 

And  strove  his  hai-dihood  to  find  ; 

He  was  glad  when  he  passed  the  tombstones  gray. 

Which  girdle  round  the  fair  Abbaye  ; 

For  the  mystic  book,  to  his  bosom  prest, 

Felt  like  a  load  upon  his  breast  : 


SCOTT — TOl.  U. 

And  his  joints,  with  nerves  of  iron  twined. 

Shook  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 

Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of  day 

Regan  to  brig-hten  Cheviot  gray  ; 

He  joyed  to  see  the  cheerful  light, 

And  he  said  Ave  Mary,  as  well  as  he  might 

The  sun  had  brightened  Cheviot  gray ; 

The  sun  had  brightened  the  Carter's*  side ; 
And  soon  beneath  the  rising  day 
Smiled  Branksome's  towers  and  Teviot's  tide. 


When  downv/ard  from  the  shady  hill 
A  stately  knight  came  pricking  on. 
'I'hat  wan'ior's  steed  so  dapple-gray 
Was  dark  with  sweat,  and  splashed  with  clay 

His  armour  red  with  many  a  stain  : 
He  seemed  in  such  a  weary  plight, 
\s  if  he  had  ridden  the  livelong  night ; 
Tor  it  was  William  of  Deloraine. 


THi:    BZACOX    BLAZE    OF    WAH 

So  passed  the  day — the  evening  fell, 
'Twas  near  the  time  of  curfew  bell ; 
The  air  was  mild,  the  wind  was  calm. 
The  stream  was  smooth,  the  dew  was  balm  ; 

*  A  mountain  on  the  border  of  England,  above  Jedbuiffli, 


48  SCOTT — YOL.  M. 

E'en  the  rude  watchman  on  the  tower, 
Enjoyed  and  blessed  the  lovely  hour. 
Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved  and  blessed 
The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 
On  the  high  tuiTet  sitting  lone, 
She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone  ; 
Touched  a  wild  note,  and  all  between 
Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  green 
Her  golden  hair  streamed  free  from  band, 
Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand. 
Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar. 
For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

Is  yon  the  star,  o'er  Penchiyst  Pen, 

That  rises  slowly  to  her  ken, 

And  spreading  broad  its  wavering  light, 

Shakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night  ? 

Is  yon  red  glare  the  western  star  ? — 

O,  'tis  the  beacon  blaze  of  war ! 

Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tightened  breath. 

For  well  she  knew  the  fire  of  death ! 

Tlie  warder  viewed  it  blazing  strong, 
And  blew  his  war-note  loud  and  long. 
Till,  at  the  high  and  haughty  sound. 
Rock,  wood,  and  river,  rang  around. 
The  blast  alarmed  the  festal  hall. 
And  startled  forth  the  warriors  all ; 
Far  downward  in  the  castle-yitrd. 
Full  many  a  torch  and  cresset  glared  i 


SCOTT VOL.   II.  49 

And  helms  and  plumes,  confusedly  tossed. 
Were  in  the  blaze  half  seen,  half  lost ; 
And  spears  in  wild  disorder  shook, 
Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  brook. 

The  Seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 

AVas  reddened  by  the  torches'  g'lare. 

Stood  in  the  midst,  with  gestui-e  proud. 

And  issued  forth  his  mandates  loud, 

"  On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale*  of  fire. 

And  three  are  kindling"  on  Priesthaughswire.'" 


THE  MINSTRKL. 


The  way  was  long",  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old  ; 
His  withered  cheek,  and  tresses,  gray. 
Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day  ; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy. 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 
The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he. 
Who  sung  of  Border  chivalr3^ 
For,  weil-a-day  !  their  date  was  fled. 
His  tuneful  bretliren  all  were  dead  ; 
And  he,  neglected  and  oppressed. 
Wished  to  be  with  them  and  at  rest. 
N'o  more,  on  prancing  palfiy  borne, 

*  Bale,  a  beacon-faggot. 


50  SCOTT VOL.  i; 

He  carolled,  light  as  lark  at  mom  : 

No  longer  courted  and  caressed. 

High  placed  in  hall  a  welcome  guest, 

He  poured,  to  lord  and  lady  gay. 

The  unpremeditated  lay  : 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone 

A  stranger  filled  the  Stuart's  throne  ; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  called  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorned  and  poor, 

He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door  . 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear. 

The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  passed  where  Newark's  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower  : 
The  minstrel  gazed  with  wishful  eye — 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigli. 
With  hesitating  step,  at  last. 
The  embattled  portal-arch  he  passed, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  rolled  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Dutchess*  marked  his  weary  pace, 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face. 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell. 


*  Anne,  Dutchess  of  Bticcleuch  and  Monmouth,  repi'esentative  of  the 
ancient  lords  of  Bucdeucli,  and  widow  of  the  unfortunate  Jami-s.  Duke 
of  MoaIOoutl)^  ^vho  wy^  bditadf  d  in  16.95. 


SCOTT VOL.    II. 

rhat  they  should  tend  the  old  man  well  : 
For  she  had  known  adversity, 
Thoug-h  bom  in  such  a  hig'h  degree  ; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Had  wept  o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb  ! 
When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied. 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified. 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride  : 
And  he  began  to  talk  anon. 
Of  good  Earl  Francis,  dead  and  gone. 
And  of  Earl  Walter,  rest  him  God  ! 
A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode  : 
And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew. 
Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleuch  ; 
And,  would  the  noble  Dutchess  deign  • 
To  hsten  to  an  old  man's  strain, 
Though  stiff  his  hand,  his  voice  though  weak, 
He  thought,  even  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 
That,  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 
He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtained ; 
The  aged  Minstrel  audience  gained. 
But,  when  he  reached  the  room  of  state. 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate. 
Perchance  he  wished  his  boon  denied  : 
For,  when  to  tune  his  haip  be  tried. 
His  trembl^j'g  hand  had  lost  the  ease. 
Which  marks  security  to  please  ; 


52  SCOTT VOL.    IJ. 

And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain, 

Came  wilderlng  o'er  his  aged  brain — 

He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain. 

The  pitying  Dutchess  praised  its  chime, 

And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time, 

Till  every  string's  according  glee 

Was  blended  into  harmony. 

And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 

He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 

He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 

It  was  not  framed  for  village  churles. 

But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls  ; 

He  had  played  it  to  king  Charles  the  Good, 

When  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood  ; 

And  much  he  wished,  yet  feared  to  try 

The  long  forgotten  melody. 

Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  strayed. 

And  an  uncertain  warbling  made. 

And  oft  he  shook  his  hoai-y  head. 

But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 

The  old  man  raised  his  face  and  smiled  ; 

And  lightened  up  his  faded  eye, 

With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy  ! 

In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 

He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along  : 

The  present  scene,  the  future  lot. 

His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot  : 

Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 

In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost. 


^rOTT VOL.   II. 


Trde  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 
To  man  alone  beneath  the  heaven. 

It  is  not  fantasy's  hot  fire. 

Whose  wishes,  soon  as  granted,  fly ; 

It  liveth  not  in  fierce  desire, 

With  dead  desire  it  doth  not  die  ; 
It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 
The  silver  link,  the  silken  tie. 
Which  heart  to  heart,  and  mind  to  mind, 
In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind. — 


PATRIOTISM. 

Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead. 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said. 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned. 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ! 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well, 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell ; 
Migh  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name. 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim  5 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf. 
The  wretch,  concentered  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
E2 


.'>4  SCOTT TOL.    M, 

And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 

To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 

Unwept,  unlionoured,  and  unsung. 

O  Caledonia  !  stern  and  wild, 

Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child  ! 

Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood. 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, 

Land  of  my  sires  !  what  mortal  hand 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band, 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand  ! 

Still,  as  I  view  each  w  ell-known  scene. 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 

Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 

Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  were  left 

And  thus  I  love  them  better  still. 

Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 

By  Yarrow's  stream  still  let  me  stray, 

Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way : 

Still  feel  the  breeze  down  Ettricke  break, 

Although  it  chill  my  withered  cheek ; 

Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot's  stone, 

Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone. 

The  Bard  may  draw  his  parting  groan. 


COMBAT    BETWEEN    TWO    KNIGHTS. 

Their  warning  blast  the  bugles  blew, 

The  pipe's  shrill  port*  aroused  each  clan, 
*  A  marlial  piece  of  music,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes. 


SCOTT VOL.  It  55 

J 11  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 

The  ti-ooping  waniors  eag^r  i-an  ; 
Thick  round  the  lists  their  lances  stood, 
Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettricke  wood ; 
To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 
The  combatants*  approach  to  view. 
And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boast. 
About  the  knight  each  favoured  most. 

Meanwhile  full  anxious  was  the  Dame 
For  now  arose  disputed  claim. 
Of  who  should  fig-ht  for  Deloraine, 
'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestaine  : 
They  'gan  to  reckon  kin  and  rent, 
And  frowning-  brow  on  brow  was  bent ; 

But  yet  not  long  the  strife — for,  lo  ! 
Himself,  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 
Strong,  as  it  seemed,  and  free  from  pain. 
In  armour  sheathed  from  top  to  toe. 
Appeared,  and  craved  the  combat  due. 
The  Dame  her  charm  successful  knew. 
And  the  fierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

When  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 
The  stately  Ladye's  silken  rein 

Did  noble  Howard  hold  ; 
Unarmed  by  her  side  he  walked, 
And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talked 

Of  feats  of  ai-ms  of  old. 
riostly  his  garb — his  Flemish  ruff 


S6  SCOTT VOL.   II. 

Fell  o'er  his  doublet,  shaped  of  bufi, 

With  satin  slashed,  and  lined  ; 
Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  his  spur, 
His  cloak  was  all  of  Poland  fur. 
His  hose  with  silver  twined ; 
His  Bilboa  blade,  by  Marchmen  felt. 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt ; 
Hence,  in  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still, 
Call  noble  Howard,  Belted  Will. 

Behind  Lord  Howard  and  the  Dame, 
Fair  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came. 

Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground  : 
White  was  her  wimple,  and  her  veil, 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 

Of  whitest  roses  bound ; 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side, 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried  i 
Without  his  aid,  her  hand  in  vain 
Had  sti'ove  to  guide  her  broidered  rein. 
He  deemed  she  shuddered  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight ; 
But  cause  of  terror,  all  unguessed, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
When,  in  their  chairs  of  crimson  placed, 
The  dame  and  she  the  barriers  graced. 

Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch, 
An  Enghsh  knight  led  forth  to  view  ; 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  plight, 


sbOTX VOL.   H.  or 


So  much  he  longed  to  see  the  fight. 
Within  the  Usts,  in  knightly  pride, 
High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride  ; 
Their  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield, 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field  ; 
While  to  eacb  knight  their  care  assigned 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind. 
Then  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim. 
In  King  and  Queen,  and  warden's  name. 

That  none,  while  lasts  the  strife, 
Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word. 
Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford. 

On  peril  of  his  life  ; 
And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke. 
Till  thus  the  alternate  Heralds  spoke  : — 

ENGLISH    HERALD. 

Here  standeth  Richard  of  Musgrave, 

Good  knight  and  ti'ue,  and  freely  born, 
Amends  from  Deloraine  to  crave. 

For  foul  despiteous  scathe  and  scorn, 
He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 

Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws  ; 
This  with  his  sword  he  will  maintain, 

So  help  him  God,  and  liis  good  cause  ! 

SCOTTISH    HERALD. 

Here  standetii  William  of  Deloraine, 
(iood  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain^ 


58  SCOTT — VOL.   11. 

Who  sayeth  that  foul  treason's  stain, 
Shice  he  bore  aiMis,  ne'er  soiled  his  coat ; 

And  that,  so  liclp  him  God  above  ! 

He  will  on  Musgrave's  body  prove. 
He  hes  most  foully  in  his  throat. 

LORD    BACKE.  ' 

Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight  I 
Sound  trumpets  ! 

LORD    HOME. 

*•  God  defend  the  right !" 

Then,  Teviot !  how  thine  echoes  rang. 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet-clang 

Let  loose  the  martial  foes. 
And  in  mid  hst,  with  shield  poised  high, 
And  measured  step  ar.d  wary  eye. 

The  combatants  did  close. 

Ill  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ear, 

Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 

How  to  the  axe  the  helms  did  sound. 

And  blood  poured  down  from  many  a  wound  ; 

For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long, 

And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 

But,  were  each  dame  a  listening  knight, 

I  well  could  tell  how  wamors  fight ; 

For  I  have  seen  war's  lightning  flashing, 

Seen  the  claymore  with  ba}'onet  clashing. 

Seen  through  red  blood  the  v.ar-horse  dashing. 


SCOTT VOi.  II.  59 


And  scorned,  amid  the  reeling-  strife, 
To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life. 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done  !  that  fatal  blow 
Has  stretched  him  on  the  bloody  plain  i 

He  strives  to  rise — Brave  Musgrave,  no  ! 
Thence  never  shalt  thou  rise  ag-ain  ! 

He  chokes  in  blood — some  friendly  hand 

Undo  the  visor's  barred  band, 

Unfix  the  gorg-et's  iron  clasp, 

And  give  him  room  for  life  to  gasp  ! 

O,  bootless  aid  ! — Haste,  holy  Friar, 

Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire  ! 

Of  all  his  guilt  let  him  be  shriven, 

And  smooth  his  path  from  earth  to  heaven 

in  haste  the  holy  Friar  sped  ; — 
His  naked  foot  was  died  with  red. 

As  through  the  lists  he  ran  ; 
Unmindful  of  the  shouts  on  high. 
That  hailed  the  conqueror's  victory. 

He  raised  the  dying  man  ; 
Loose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  hair. 
As  o'er  him  he  kneeled  down  in  prayer  -, 
And  still  the  crucifix  on  high 
He  holds  before  his  darkening-  eye  ; 
And  still  he  bends  an  anxious  ear. 
His  faltering  penitence  to  hear  ; 

StiU  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod  ; 
Still,  even  when  soul  and  body  part. 


60  SCOTT TOI..  IJ. 

Pours  ghostly  comfort  on  his  heait. 

And  bids  him  trust  in  God  ! 
Unheard  he  prays ; — ^the  death-pang's  o'er 
Richard  of  Musgrave  breathes  no  more. 

As  if  exhausted  in  the  fight, 
Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sight. 

The  silent  -victor  stands ; 
His  beaver  did  he  not  unclasp. 
Marked  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

Of  gratulating  hands. 


THE    DAUCE    OF    DEATH. 

NruHT  and  morning  were  at  meeting 

Over  Waterloo  ; 
Cocks  had  sung  their  earUest  gi'ecting, 

Faint  and  low  they  crew. 
For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 
On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John  : 
Tempest-clouds  prolonged  the  sway 
Of  timeless  darkness  over  day  ; 
Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 
Mark'd  it  a  predestined  hour. 
Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 
Flashed  the  sheets  of  levin-light ; 
Musquets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 
Show'd  the  dreary  bivouack 

Where  the  solflier  lay. 


SCOTT — VOL.   11.  61 

Chill,  and  stiff,  and  drenched  with  i-ain. 
Wishing-  da\vn  of  morn  again 

Though  death  should  come  with  day, 

'Tis  at  such  a  tide  and  hour. 

Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 
And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken  ; 
And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 
Drinks  whispers  strange  of  fate  and  fear, 
Presaging  death  and  ruin  near. 

Among  the  sons  of  men  ; — 
Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array, 
'Twas  then  gray  Allan  sleepless  lay  ; 
Gray  Allan,  who,  for  many  a  day, 

Had  follow'd  stout  and  stem, 
Where,  through  battle's  rout  and  reel. 
Storm  of  shot  and  hedge  of  steel. 
Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 
Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more. 
Low-laid  'mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore — 
But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore, 
Aud  Sunart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

And  Morvern  long  shall  tell. 
And  proud  Bennevis  heai-  with  awe. 
How,  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras, 
Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hurra 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell. 
F 


62  SCOTT — TOL.   II, 

'Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host, 

The  weary  sentinel  held  post, 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof, 

The  frequent  clang  of  courser's  hoof. 

Where  held  the  cloaked  patrol  theii*  course, 

And  spurred,  'gainst  storm,  the  swerving  horse  ; 

But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear. 

Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear. 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

Invisible  to  them  have  passed. 

When  down  the  destined  plain 
'Twixt  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 
W' ild  as  marsh-borne  meteors  glance. 
Strange  phantoms  wheeled  a  revel  dance. 

And  doomed  the  future  slain. — 
Such  forms  were  seen,  such  sounds  were  heard. 
When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepai-ed 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain  ; 
Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword. 
As  Chusers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

The  yet  unchristened  Dane. 
An  indistinct  and  phantom  band. 
They  wheeled  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand, 

With  gesture  wild  and  dread  ; 
The  Seer,  who  watched  them  ride  the  storm. 
Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 

The  lightning's  flash  more  red  : 
And  still  tlieir  gliastly  roundelay 


SCOTT VOL.   11.  63 

Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray. 
And  of  the  destined  dead. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud. 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 
Our  airy  feet. 
So  hght  and  fleet, 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 
That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds  rave, 
And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave, 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by  ; 
But  still  the  corn, 
At  dawn  of  mom. 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 
At  eve  lies  waste 
A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance  ! 
Brave  sons  of  France, 


64  SCOTT — VOL.  II, 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room  ; 
Make  space  full  wide 
For  martial  pride. 

For  banner,  spear,  and  plume.. 
Approach,  draw  near. 
Proud  cuirassier  ! 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel  ! 
Through  crest  and  plate 
The  broad-sword's  weight 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feel. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance. 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Sons  of  the  spear  ! 
You  feel  us  near 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream  ; 
With  fancy's  eye 
Our  forms  you  spy. 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
With  clearer  sight 
Ere  falls  the  night. 

Just  when  to  weal  or  wo 
Your  disembodied  &ouls  take  flight  ^ 

On  trembling  wmg — each  startled  sprite  ^ 

Our  choir  of  death  shall  know. 


SCOTT VOt.  IT.  65 


wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance. 

And  thunders  rattle  loud. 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers. 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours — 

See  the  east  grows  wan — 
Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game. 
Ere  deadlier  bolts  and  drearier  flame 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame  ; 
Elemental  rage  is  tame 

To  the  \\Tath  of  man. 

At  morn,  gray  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw. 

The  legend  heard  him  say  ; 
But  the  seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim. 
Deafened  his  ear  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day — 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  highland  heath, — 
But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale 
On  picquet-post,  when  ebbs  the  night. 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright. 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 
F2 


66  SCOTT — VOL.  IT. 


A    HTJXTIXG    SONG. 

Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day. 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here, 

With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  huntmg  spear 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  meiTily,  mingle  they, 

"  Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming. 

And  foresters  have  busy  been. 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green  ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"  Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay.'* 

Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
To  the  green  wood  haste  away; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies. 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made. 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  frayed; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
'* Waken  lords  and  ladies  gay." 


SCOTT VOL.    Jl.  67 


f  .ouder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 
Vraken  lords  and  ladies  g-ay  ! 
Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 
llun  a  course  as  well  as  we  : 
Time,  stern  huntsman  !  who  can  balk. 
Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk  : 
Think  of  this,  and  rise  witli  day, 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  g-ay. 


THE    3IIXRTREL  S    RKTIIEAT. 

Hushed  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gone. 
And  did  he  wander  forth  alone  ? 
Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 
To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  ■ 
No  : — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  towei 
Arose  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower ; 
A  simple  hut ;  but  there  was  seen 
The  little  garden  hedged  with  green, 
The  cheeiful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 
There,  sheltered  wanderers,  by  the  blaze. 
Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days  ; 
For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door, 
And  give  the  aid  be  begged  before. 
So  passed  the  winter's  day  ;  but  still, 
^Vhen  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhiil, 
And  July's  eve,  with  babny  breath. 
Waved  the  blue-bells  on  Newark  heatlt 


68  SCOTT TOL.  ii:. 

When  throstles  sung  in  Hare-head  shav>v 
AtTci  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh, 
And  flourished,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak. 
The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke  ! 
Then  would  he  sing  achievements  high^ 
And  circumstance  of  chivalry, 
Till  the  wrapt  traveller  would  stay. 
Forgetful  of  the  closing  day  : 
And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  hear,^ 
Forsook  the  hunting  of  the  deer  ; 
And  Yarrow,  as  he  rolled  along. 
Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel*s  song. 


CHICHTOrif    CASTLE^ 


That  castle  rises  on  the  steep* 
Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne  ; 

And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep 

From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep. 

Where  alders  moist  and  willows  weep. 
You  hear  her  streams  repine. 

The  towers  in  different  ages  rose  ; 

Their  various  architecture  shows 
The  builders'  various  hands  ; 

A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose. 


*  A  larg'e  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne,  about  seven  mik;& 
iiom  Edinburgh.  These  splendid  remains  of  antiquity  are  now  used  as  a 
sheepfold. 


StOTT VOL.   111.  69 


When  deadliest  hatred  fired  its  foes, 
The  vengeful  Doug'las  bands. 

Crichtoun  !  though  now  thy  miry  court 

But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep. 

Thy  turrets  rude,  and  tottered  Keep, 
Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 
Oft  have  I  traced  within  thy  fort, 

Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense, 

Scutcheons  of  honour,  or  pretence, 
Quartered  in  old  armorial  sort. 

Remains  of  rude  magnificence  : 
Nor  wholly  yet  hath  time  defaced 

Thy  lordly  galleiy  fair  ; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced. 
Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced. 

Adorn  thy  ruined  stair. 
Still  rises  unimpaired  below. 
The  court-yard's  graceful  portico  ; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row. 
Of  fair  hewn  facets,  richly  show 

Their  pointed  diamond  form. 
Though  there  but  houseless  cattle  go 

To  s'iekl  them  from  the  storm. 
And,  slmddenng,  still  may  we  explore, 

Where  oft  whilome  were  captives  ]jent, 
The  darkness  of  thy  Ivlassy  More  :* 

Or,  from  thy  grass-gi'own  battlement, 

*  The  pit,  or  prison  vault. 


70  SCOTT— VOL.   111. 

May  trace,  in  undulating"  line. 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 


THE    SHEPHEKB, 

I'he  shepherd,  who,  in  summer  sun. 
Has  something  of  our  envy  won. 
As  thou  with  pencil,  I  with  pen. 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen ; 
He  who,  outstretched,  the  livelong  day. 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flower  lay. 
Viewed  the  light  clouds  with  vacant  look. 
Or  slumbered  o'er  his  tattered  book. 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessened  tide  ;-r- 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labour  for  the  swain. 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun. 
Through  hedvy  vapours  dank  and  dun  ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm- 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane  , 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox. 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks. 
Are  warnings  which  the  shepherd  ask. 
To  dismal,  and  to  dangerous  task. 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain. 


SCOTT VOL.    III.  71 

The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain, 

Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below, 

Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow. 

And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 

Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 

To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine  ; 

Whistling,  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 

Around  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid  ; 

His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides 

To  open  downs,  and  mountain  sides. 

Where,  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 

Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 

The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells. 

Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles ; 

Oft  he  looks  back,  while,  streaming  far, 

His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, 

Loses  its  feeble  gleam,  and  then 

Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again. 

And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep. 

Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep  : 

If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 

Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale  ; 

His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 

Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own. 

Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain. 

The  morn  m.ay  find  the  stiffened  swain  ; 

His  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale. 

His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 

And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow. 


72  SCOTT VOL.    III. 

Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  wo. 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast, 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest= 
Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot. 
His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree. 
His  rustic  kirn's*  loud  reveliy, 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marian  of  the  blitlisome  eye  ; 
His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed, 
And  uU  Arcadia's  golden  creed. 


THE    MTSTEBIOrS    rAtlVTEH. 

The  summoned  Palmei-f  came  in  place. 
His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face  ; 
In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad. 
With  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 
On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought : 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck  c 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 
Was  from  Loretto  brought ; 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore, 

*  The  Scottish  harvest -home. 

t  A  palmer,  opposed  to  a  pilgrim,  was  one  w  ho  made  it  his  sole  business 
to  visit  different  holy  shrines ;  travelling'  incessantly,  and  subsisting:  b) 
charity;  whereas  the  piigriiu  retired  to  his  usual  home  and  occupations, 
when  he  had  paid  his  devotions  at  tlu-  particular  spot,  which  was  the  ob- 
ject of  his  pilgrimage.  The  palmers  seem  to  have  been  the  Quicitionarii 
of  the  ancient  Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296. 


SCOTT TOL.    III.  73 

Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore ; 
The  faded  palm  branch  in  his  hand. 
Showed  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land. 

When  as  the  Palmer  came  in  hall, 

Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall. 

Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal, 

Or  looked  more  high  and  keen  ; 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait, 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state, 
And  fronted  Mannion  where  he  sate, 

As  he  his  peer  had  been. 
But  his  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil, 
llis  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while  ! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile. 

His  eye  looked  haggard  wild. 
Poor  wretch  !  the  mother  that  him  bare. 
If  she  had  been  in  presence  there, 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sun-burned  hair. 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  want,  or  wo. 
Soon  change  the  form  that  best  we  know — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo, 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair  ; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  fomi  and  face, 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace ; 
Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace, 

-More  deeply  than  despair. 
G 


74  :?LOTT^ — VOL.   111. 


A    CAMP    SCKWE. 

Much  he  marvelled  one  small  land 
Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band  : 

For  men-at-arms  were  here. 
Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate. 
Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 
On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 

"With  battle-axe  and  spear. 
Young  knights  and  squu'es,  a  lighter  traij). 
Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain. 
By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein, 

Each  vvarhke  feat  to  show^  ; 
I'o  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 
And  high  curvet,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword-sway  might  descend  amain 

On  foeman's  casque  below. 
He  saw  the  hai-dy  burghers  there 
March  armed,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare, 

For  visor  they  wore  none  ; 
Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight, 
But  burnished  were  their  corslets  bright  : 
Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light. 

Like  very  silver  shone. 
Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight. 

Two-handed  swords  they  wore, 
And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight, 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 


SCOTT VOL.    llf. 

« )n  loot  the  yeomen  too,  but  dressed 
Vn  his  steel  jack,  a  swarthy  ves^ 

With  iron  quilted  well ; 
Each  at  his  back,  a  slender  store^ 
His  forty  days'  provision  bore 

As  feudal  statutes  tell. 
His  arms  were  halbard,  axe,  or  spear, 
A  cross-bow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 
A  dag-ger  knife,  and  brand. — 
Sober  he  seemed,  and  sad  of  cheer, 
As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear. 

And  march  to  foreign  strand  ; 
Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer. 

To  till  the  fallow  land. 
Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 
Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie, — 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire 
Than  theirs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name. 
In  eager  mood  to  battle  came. 
Their  valour  like  light  straw  on  flame, 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

Not  so  the  Borderer  :— ^bred  to  war, 
He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 

And  joyed  to  hear  it  swell. 
His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease  ; 
Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please, 

Like  the  loud  slogan  yell. 
On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade. 
The  lig-ht  armed  pricker  plied  his  tra'de, — 


V6  SCOTT VOL.  II r. 

Let  nobles  fig-ht  for  fume  ; 
Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead, 
Burghers,  to  g-uard  their  townships,  bleed. 

But  war's  the  Borderers'  game. 
Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight. 
To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night. 
O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor  ; 
Joyful  to  fight  they  took  their  way, 
Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  da}  , 

Their  booty  was  secure. 
These,  as  Lord  Marmion's  train  passed  b} , 
Looked  on,  at  first,  with  careless  eye. 
Nor  marvelled  aught,  well  taught  to  know. 
The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 
But  when  they  saw  the  Lord  arrayed 
In  splendid  arms,  and  rich  brocade. 
Each  Borderer  to  his  kinsman  said, 
**  Hist  Ringan  !  seest  tliou  there  ! 
Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  homeward  ride 
O  !  could  we  but,  on  Border  side. 
By  Eusdale  glen,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  ! 
That  fangless  Lion,  too,  their  guide. 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide  ; 
Brown  Maudlin  of  that  doublet  pied 
Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 

Next  Marmion  marked  the  Celtic  racc» 
Of  different  language,  form,  and  face. 


?COTT VOL.  in.  7T 


A  vavioas  race  of  man  ; 
Just  tlien  the  chiefs  their  tribes  arrayed, 
And  wild  and  garish  semblance  made. 
The  chequered  trews,  and  belted  plaid. 
And  varying-  notes  the  war-pipes  brayed 

To  every  varying-  clan  ; 
Wild  through  their  red  or  sable  hair 
I^ooked  out  their  eyes,  with  savage  stare, 

On  Marmion  as  he  past  ^ 
Their  legs,  above  the  knee  were  bare  ; 
Their  frame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare. 

And  hardened  to  the  blast ; 
Of  taller  race  the  chiefs  they  own 
Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 
The  hunted  red-deer's  undressed  hide 
The  hairj^  buskins  well  supplied ; 
The  gi-accful  bonnet  decked  their  head  ; 
Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid  ; 

A  broad-sword  of  unwieldy  length  ; 
\  dagger,  proved  for  edge  and  strength  5 

A  studded  tar^e  they  wore. 
And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts, — but,  O  ! 
Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow. 

To  that  which  England  bore. 
The  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 
The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 
They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 
As  with  his  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 
G2 


78  SCOTT VOL.   III. 


MARMIOS*S    RECEPTION   AT    NOHHAM    CASTLE. 

Day  set  on  Norbam's  castled  steep,* 
And  Tweed's  fair  river  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone  : 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep, 
The  loop-hole  ^'ates  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yellow  lustre  shone. 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky. 

Seemed  forms  of  giant  height ; 
Their  armour,  as  it  caught  the  rays. 
Flashed  back  again  the  western  blaze. 

In  lines  of  dazzhng  light. 

St.  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung  ; 
The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  the  donjon  tower, 

So  heavily  it  hung. 

*  The  ruinous  castle  of  Norham,  (anciently  called  Ubbanford,)  is  situ- 
ated on  the  soutliern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  six  miles  above  Btrwick, 
and  vvhert  that  river  is  still  the  boundary  between  Eng-land  and  Scotland. 
The  extent  of  its  ruins,  as  well  as  its  historical  iiiijiortunce,  show  it  to  have 
been  a  place  of  magnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  resided  there 
when  lit  was  created  umpire  of  the  dispute  concerning;  the  Scottish  suc- 
cession. It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken  during  the  wars  between 
England  and  Scotland  ;  and  indeed  scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had 
not  a  principal  share. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  present  considerable,  as  well  as  pictu- 
resque. They  consist  of  a  large  shattered  tower,  w  ith  many  vaults,  and 
fragments  ofother  edifices  enclosed  within  an  outward  wall  of  great  circui  t . 


J 


SCOTT VOL.  III.  79 


The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search. 

The  castle  gates  were  barred, 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch. 
Timing  his  footsteps  to  a  march. 

The  warder  kept  his  guard. 
Low  humming,  as  he  paced  along, 
Son»e  ancient  border-gathering  song. 

A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears  : 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 
O'er  Horncliff-hill  a  plump*  of  spears^ 

Beneath  a  pennon  gay  ; 
A  horseman  darting  from  the  crowd. 
Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud. 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud. 

Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneath  the  sable  palisade. 
That  closed  the  castle  barricade, 

Ilis  bugle  horn  he  blew  5 
I'he  warder  hasted  from  the  wall. 
And  warned  the  Captain  in  the  hall, 

For  well  the  blast  he  knew  ; 
And  joyfully  that  Knight  did  call. 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal. 


*  This  word  properly  applies  to  a  flight  of  waterfowl ;  but  is  applied,  by 
ijialogy,  to  a  body  of  horse. 

There  is  a  Knig-ht  of  the  North  Country, 
Which  leads  a  lusty  plump  of  spears. 

Battle  of  Fiodden. 


80  SCOTT — vol.    III. 

'*Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe. 
And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free. 
And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be. 
And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee. 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow  ; 
And,  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 
To  fire  a  noble  salvo-shot  : 

Lord  Marmion  waits  below." — 
Then  to  the  Castle's  lower  ward 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 
The  iron-studded  gates  unbarred. 
Raised  the  portculUs'  ponderous  guai'd. 
The  lofty  palisade  unsparred. 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

Along  the  bridge  Lord  Marmion  rode, 
Proudly  his  red-roan  charger  trod. 
His  helm  hung  at  the  saddle  bow  ; 
AVeil,  by  his  visage,  you  might  know 
He  was  a  stal worth  knight,  and  keen. 
And  had  in  many  a  battle  been  5 
The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  revealed 
A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field  ; 
His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire, 
Showed  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire  ; 
Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 
Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 
His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare. 


SCOTT VOL.    III. 

His  tliick  moustache,  and  curly  hair. 
Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there. 

But  more  through  toil  than  age  ; 
His  square  turned  joints,  and  strength  of  limb. 
Showed  him  no  cai-pet  knight  so  trim. 
Hut,  in  close  fight,  a  champion  grim. 

In  camps,  a  leader  sage. 

Well  was  he  armed  from  head  to  heel. 

In  mail,  and  plate,  of  Milan  steel ; 

But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost. 

Was  all  with  burnished  gold  embossed  ; 

Amid  the  plumage  of  the  crest, 

A  falcon  hovered  on  her  nest. 

With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast ; 

E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield. 

Soared  sable  in  an  azure  field : 

The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 

"  Who  checks  at  me  to  death  is  dightf*' 

Blue  was  the  charger's  broidered  rein  ; 

Blue  ribbons  decked  his  arcliing  mane  ; 

The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 

Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapped  with  gold. 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires. 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires  ; 
They  burned  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim  ; 
For  well  could  each  a  war-horse  tame. 
Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway. 
And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away  ; 


ai 


82  SCOTT — VOL.  in. 

Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love  ditties  passing-  rare, 
And  sing-  tliem  to  a  lady  fair. 

Four  men  at-arms  came  at  their  backs. 
With  halbard,  bill,  and  battle-axe  : 
They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong-. 
And  led  his  sumpter  mules  along-, 
And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 
Him  listed  ease  his  battle-steed. 
The  last,  and  trustiest  of  the  four. 
On  hig-h  his  forky  pennon  bore  ; 
Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 
Fluttered  the  streamer  glossy  blue. 
Where  blazoned  sable,  as  before. 
The  towering  falcon  seemed  to  soar. 
Last,  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two, 
In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue, 
AVith  falcons  broidered  on  each  breast. 
Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 
Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 
Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood  ^ 
Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend. 
And  far  a  cloth-yard  shaft  could  send  ; 
Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong, 
And  at  their  belts  theii'  quivers  rung. 
Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array, 
Showed  thev  had  marched  a  wearv  wav. 


SCOTT VOL.   III.  83 


'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now, 
flow  fairly  armed,  and  ordered  how. 

The  soldiers  of  the  g-uard, 
With  m.usquet,  pike,  and  morion, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion, 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard  ; 
Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there, 
The  gunner  held  his  lintstock  yare, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared — 
Entered  the  train,  and  such  a  clang. 
As  then  through  all  his  tun-ets  rang, 

Old  Norham  never  heard. 

Tlie  guards  theu*  morice  pikes  advanced, 

The  trumpets  flourished  brave. 
The  caiuion  from  the  ramparts  glanced. 

And  thundering  welcome  gave  ; 
A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound. 
For,  as  Lord  Marmion  crossed  the  court. 

He  scattered  angels  round. 
"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion, 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand  ? 
U'ell  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

Thou  flower  of  English  land." 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabards  deck, 
With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone. 
By  which  you  reach  tlie  donjon  gate, 


84  SCOTT — yOL.  IIT. 

And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state, 

They  hailed  Lord  Marmion  : 
They  hailed  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town  ; 
And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite. 
Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks  weight. 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 
**Now  largesse,  largesse,*  Lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold  ! 
A  blazoned  shield,  in  battle  Avon, 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

They  marshalled  him  to  the  Castle  hall, 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside. 
And  loudly  flourished  the  ti-umpet-call. 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 
— "  Room,  lordings,  room  for  Lord  Marmion. 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold  ! 
Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

In  tlie  list  at  Cottiswold  : 
There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand  ; 
To  him  he  lost  his  ladye-love. 

And  to  the  king  his  land. 
Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

A  sight  both  sad  and  fair. 
We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  his  shield, 

*  The  cry  by  vhith  the  heralds  expressed  their  thaitks  fov  the  »»ount_v 
of  the  nobles. 


SCOTT VOL.   III.  bo 


And  saw  his  saddle  bare  ; 
We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride  ; 
And  on  the  gibbet-tree,  reversed. 

His  foeinan's  scutcheon  tied. 
Place,  nobles,  for  the  Falcon-Knight  ! 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay, 
For  him  who  conquered  in  the  riglit, 

Mamiion  of  Fontenaye  !" — 

Then  stepped  to  meet  that  noble  lord. 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold. 
Baron  of  Twissel,  and  of  Ford, 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold. 
He  led  Lord  Marmlon  to  the  dcas. 

Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high, 
And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place— 

They  feasted  full  and  high  : 

*  *  *  * 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep 
Where  vraie  and  spices  richly  steep. 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep. 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Mai-mion  drank  a  fair  good  rest. 
The  Captain  pledged  his  noble  guest. 
The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest, 

Who  drained  it  merrily  : 
Alone  the  Palmer  passed  it  b}. 
Though  Selby  pressed  liim  courteousl} 
H 


86  SCOTT TOI.  III. 

This  was  the  sign  the  feast  was  o'er  ; 

It  hushed  the  merry  wassel  roar, 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 
Soon  in  the  castle  nought  was  heard, 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  tlie  guard. 

Pacing  his  sober  round. 

With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose  : 

And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose  ; 

Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done, 

(A  hasty  mass  from  Friar  John,) 

And  knight  and  squire  had  broke  their  fast, 

On  rich  substantial  repast, 

Lord  Marmion's  bugle  blew  to  horse. 

Then  came  the  stirrup-cup  in  com-se  5 

Between  the  Baron  and  his  host, 

No  point  of  comlesy  was  lost : 

High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid. 

Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made, 

Till,  fihng  from  the  gate,  had  past 

'I'hat  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 

Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call ; 

Thundered  the  cannon  from  the  wall. 
And  shook  the  Scottish  shore  ; 

Around  the  castle  eddied  slow, 

Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow , 
And  hid  its  turrets  hoar  ; 
Till  they  rolled  forth  upon  the  air. 
And  met  the  river  breezes  there, 
Which  g'ave  again  the  prospect  fair 


SCOTT VOL.    ill.  tJf 


rUE    VOrAGE    OF    LADY    ABBESS    AXU    UER    SCNS. 

The  breeze,  which  swept  away  the  smokcj 

Round  Norham  Castle  rolled  ; 
When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke, 
With  lig-htning-  flash,  and  thunder-stioke, 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 
It  curled  not  Tweed  alone,  that  breeze  ; 
For,  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas, 

It  freshly  blew,  and  strong". 
Where,  from  high  Whitby's  cloistered  pile. 
Bound  to  Saint  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle,* 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 
Upon  the  gale  she  stooped  her  side. 
And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide. 

As  she  were  dancing  home ; 
The  merry  seamen  laughed,  to  see 
Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 

•  The  Abbey  of  V/hitby,  on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  founded  A.  D, 
657,  in  consequence  of  a  vow  of  Oswy,  King  of  Northuruberland.  It  con- 
tained both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order ;  but,  contrary  to 
what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  abbess  was  superior  to  the  ab- 
bot. The  monastery  was  afterAvards  ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilded 
by  William  Percy  in  the  reign  of  the  Conqueror.  1  here  were  no  nuns 
there  in  Henry  the  Eighth's  tune,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby 
Abbey  are  very  magnificent. 

Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  was  called  Holy 
Island,  from  the  sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery,  and  from  its  having 
been  the  episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Durham  during  the  early  ages  of  Bri- 
tish Christianity.  A  succession  of  holy  men  held  that  office  ;  but  their  me- 
rits were  swallowed  up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was  sixth 
bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed  the  name  of  his  "  patrimony"  upon 
the  extensive  property  of  the  see.  The  ruins  of  the  monastery  upon 
Holy  Island  betoken  great  antiquity. 


SCOTT VOL.    III. 

Much  joyed  they  in  their  honoured  freig-lit 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state. 
The  Abbess  of  St.  Hilda  pluccd, 
With  five  fair  nuns,  the  g-alley  gTuccd. 

*T\vas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids, 
Like  birds  escaped  to  green-wood  shades, 

Their  first  iiight  from  the  cage. 
How  timid,  and  how  curions  too. 
For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new. 
And  all  the  common  sights  they  view 

Their  wondemient  engage. 
One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail. 

With  many  a  benedicite  ; 
One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale. 

And  would  for  terror  pray  ; 
Then  shrieked,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh» 
Ilis  round  black  head,  and  sparkling'  eye. 

Reared  o'er  the  foaming  spray  ; 
And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 
Disordered  by  the  summer  gale, 
Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 
Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy  ; 
Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 
Her  fair-turned  arm  and  slender  waist. 
Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there. 
Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share, — ■ 
The  Abbess,  and  the  Novice  Clare. 


SCOTT VOL.    III.  69 


The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood. 
But  early  took  the  veil  and  hood. 
Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look. 
Or  knew  the  world  that  she  forsook. 
Fair  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 
As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 
For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh. 
Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye  -; 
Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name. 
Combined  with  vanity  and  shame  ; 
Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 
Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall  : 
The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach, 
Was  of  monastic  nile  the  breach  j 
And  her  ambition's  highest  aim. 
To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  fame. 
For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower, 
To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower  ; 
For  this,  with  cai-ving  rare  and  quaint, 
She  decked  the  chapel  of  the  saint ; 
And  gave  the  relique -shrine  of  cost. 
With  ivory  and  gems  embost ; 
The  poor  her  convent's  bounty  blest, 
The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  rest. 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 
Reformed  on  Benedictine  school ; 
Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare 
Vigils,  and  penitence  austere, 
H  2 


90  SCOTT — VOL.  III. 

Had  early  quenched  the  light  of  youth, 
But  gentle  was  the  dame  in  sooth  ; 
Though  vain  of  her  religious  swa}'. 
She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey, 
Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell, 
And  the  nuns  loved  their  Abbess  welJ. 
Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame  ; 
Summoned  to  Lindisfarn,  she  came, 
There  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old. 
And  Tynemouth's  Prioress,  to  hold 
A  chapter  of  Saint  Benedict, 
For  inquisition  stern  and  strict. 
On  two  apostates  from  the  faith. 
And,  if  Jieed  were,  to  doom  to  death. 

Nought  say  I  here  of  Sister  Clare, 
Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair, 
As  yet  a  novice  unprofessed. 
Lovely  and  gentle,  but  distressed. 
She  was  betrothed  to  one  now  dead, 
Or  worse,  who  had  dishonoured  fled. 
Her  kinsman  bade  her  give  her  hand 
To  one,  who  loved  her  for  her  land  ; 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 
Was  bent  to  take  the  vestal  vow. 
And  shroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom. 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  withered  bloom. 

She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow. 

And  seemed  to  mai-k  the  waves  below  ; 


SCOTT — VOL.  in. 

Nay,  seemed  so  fixed  her  look  and  eye, 
To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 
She  saw  them  not — 'twas  seeming-  all — 
Far  other  scenes  her  thoughts  recall, — 
A  sun-scorched  desert,  waste  and  bare. 
Nor  wave,  nor  breezes,  miuroured  there  ^ 
There  saw  she,  where  some  careless  hand 
O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heaped  the  sand, 
To  hide  it  tiU  the  jackalls  come. 
To  tear  it  from  tlie  scanty  tomb — 
See  what  a  woful  look  was  given. 
As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven  ! 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distressed — 

These  charms  might  tame  the  fiercest  breast ; 

Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told. 

That  he,  in  fiiry  uncontrouled. 

The  shaggy  monarch  of  the  wood, 

Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good. 

Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 

But  passions  in  the  human  frame. 

Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame  ; 

And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue. 

With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 

Had  practised,  with  their  bowl  and  knife, 

Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 

This  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 

Prisoned  in  Cuthbert's  islet  gray. 


91 


SCOTT — VOL.  HI. 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 

Of  mountainous  Northumberland; 

Towns,  towers,  and  halls  successive  rise. 

And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 

Monk  Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  lay. 

And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay  ; 

They  marked,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 

Of  Lofty  Seaton-Delaval  5 

They  saw  the  Blythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 

Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods  ; 

They  past  the  tower  of  Widderington, 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son  ; 

At  Coqaet-isle  their  beads  they  tell. 

To  tlie  good  Saint  who  owned  the  cell ; 

Then  did  the  Alne  attention  claim. 

And  Warkworth,  proud  of  Percy's  name  ; 

And  next,  they  crossed  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near. 

Where,  boiling  through  the  rocks,  they  roar 

On  Dunstanb  ©rough's  caverned  shore  : 

Thy  tower,  proud  Bamborough,  marked  they  there, 

King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square, 

From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down. 

And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown  ; 

Then  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 

And  reached  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

»  •  *  * 

As  to  the  port  the  gaUey  flew. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 


SCOTT VOL.   IIT. 

'I'he  Castle,  with  its  battled  walls. 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solftnn,  huge,  and  dark-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 

In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frowned. 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 
That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 
On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low. 

Built  ere  the  art  was  known, 
By  pointed  aisle,  and  shafted  stalk. 
The  arcades  of  an  alleyed  walk 
To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  poured  his  impious  rage  in  vain  ; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these, 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas. 
Scourged  by  the  wind's  eternal  sway. 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they. 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Rebuilded  in  a  later  style. 
Showed  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been  ; 
Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  camng  quaint. 
And  mouldered  in  his  niche  the  saint, 
And  rounded,  with  consuming  power, 
The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower  ; 


94  SCOTT — VOL.  rn. 

Yet  still  entire  the  Abbey  stood. 
Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

Soon  as  they  neared  his  turrets  strong, 
The  maidens  raised  St.  Hilda's  song, 
And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind. 
Their  voices  sweetly  shrill  combined. 

And  made  harmonious  close  ; 
Then,  answering-  from  the  sandy  shore, 
Half-drowned  amid  the  breakers'  roar. 

According  chorus  rose  ; 
Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 
The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file. 
From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim  : 
Banner,  and  cross,  and  reliques  there. 
To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare  ; 
And,  as  they  caught  the  sounds  on  air, 
They  echoed  back  the  hymn. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    FLODDEN. 

At  length  his  eye 
Unusual  movement  might  descry. 

Amid  the  shifting  lines  : 
rhe  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears. 
For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 
Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending ; 


SCOTT VOL.   III.  95 

Their  flank  inclining",  wheeling-,  bending-, 
Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending-, 
The  skilful  Marmion  well  could  know, 
They  watched  the  motions  of  some  foe, 
Who  traversed  on  the  plain  below. 

E*en  so  it  was ; — from  Flodden  ridg-e 
The  Scots  beheld  the  Eng-Ush  host 
Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening-  post. 
And  heedful  watched  them  as  they  crossed 
The  Till  by  Twisel  Bridg-e. 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  while 
They  dive  into  the  deep  defile  ; 
Beneath  the  caverned  cliti'  they  fall, 
Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 

By  rock,  by  oak,  by  hawthorn  tree, 
Troop  after  troop  is  disappearing  : 
'J'roop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing-. 

Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 
Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den, 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 
And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen, 
Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men. 

In  slow  succession  still. 
And  bending  o'er  the  Gothic  urch. 
And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march, 

To  gain  the  opposing  hill. 
That  morn,  to  many  a  trumpet-clang, 
Twisel  !  thy  rock's  deep  echo  rang  ; 
Aad  ma^y  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank. 


96  SCOTT VOL.   III. 

Saint  Helen  !  at  thy  fountain  drank. 
Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 
In  spring"-tide  bloom  so  lavishly. 
Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom. 
To  give  the  marching  columns  room. 

And  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now, 
Dark  Flodden  !  on  thy  airy  brow, 
Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while, 
And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  '' 
What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James  ? 
Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Inactive  on  liis  steed. 
And  sees,  between  him  and  his  land. 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand, 

His  host  Lord  SuiTey  lead  ? 
What  vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand  ?< — 
t),  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand  ! 

Fierce  Randolph,  for  thy  speed  ! 
O  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 
Or  well-skilled  Bmce,  to  rule  the  fight. 
And  cr)^ — *'  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right  !'" 
Another  sight  had  seen  tliat  morn, 
From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn. 
And  Flodden  had  been  Bannock-bourne  I — 
The  precious  hour  has  passed  in  vain. 
And  England's  host  has  gained  the  j  lain  ; 
Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 
Around  the  base  of  Flodden  hill. 


SeOTT VOL.   HI.  f 

Krc  yet  die  bands  met  Mannion's  eye, 
Fitz-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  hig-h, — 

"Hark  !  hark  !  my  lord,  an  English  dmm  ■ 
And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hi]}. 
Foot,  horse,  and  cannon  ; — hap  what  hap, 
My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap. 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till ! — 
Yet  more  !  yet  more  !  — how  fair  arrayed 
Tliey  file  from  out  the  hawthorn  shade 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by  ! 
With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread, 

And  all  their  armour  flashing  high. 
Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

To  see  fair  England's  banners  fly." — 
"Stint  in  thy  prate,"  quoth  Blount  5  "thon'dst  best, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest." — 
With  kindling  brow  Lord  Marmion  said — 
"  This  instant  be  oui*  band  arnwed  ; 
'I'he  river  must  be  quickly  crossed. 
That  we  may  join  Lord  SuiTey's  host. 
If  fight  King  James, — as  well  I  ti-ust. 
That  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must, — 
'I  he  Lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 
Shall  tariy,  while  the  battle  joins." 

Himself  he  swift  on  horseback  threv\ . 
Scarce  to  the  Abbot  bade  adieu  ; 
Far  less  would  listen  to  his  prayer. 
I 


98  SCOTT — VOL.  Ill 

To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 
Down  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew. 
And  muttered,  as  the  flood  they  view, 

"  The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw, 
He  scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw  : 
Lord  Angus  may  the  Abbot  awe. 

So  Clare  shall  bide  with  me." 
Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep. 
Where  to  the  Tweed  Leafs  eddies  creep, 

He  ventured  desperately ; 
And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide, 
Till  squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride  5 
Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide. 

And  stems  it  gallantly. 
Eustace  held  Clai-e  upon  her  horse. 

Old  Hubert  led  her  rein, 
^      Stoutly  they  braved  the  current's  course, 
And,  though  far  downward  driven  per  force. 

The  southern  bank  they  gain  ; 
Behind  them,  struggling,  came  to  shore, 

As  best  they  might,  the  train  : 
Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 

A  caution  not  in  vain  5 
Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string. 
By  wet  unharmed,  should  sharply  ring. 
A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  staid. 
And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  arrayed. 

Then  forward  moved  his  band. 
Until,  Lord  Surrey's  reai'-guard  won, 


SCOTT — VOL.  irr.  99 

He  halted  by  a  cross  of  stone. 
That,  on  a  hillock  standing"  lone. 
Did  all  the  field  command. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray ; 

Their  marshalled  line  stretched  east  and  west, 

And  fronted  north  and  south. 
And  distant  salutation  past 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth  ; 
Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle. 
That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle. 

But  slow  and  far  between. — 
The  hillock  gained.  Lord  Marmion  staid  : 
**  Here,  by  this  cross,"  he  gently  said, 

"  You  well  may  view  the  scene. 
Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare  : 
O  !  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer  ! 
Thou  wilt  not  ? — well,  no  less  my  care 
Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare. — 
You,  Blount,  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard. 

With  ten  picked  archers  of  my  train  ; 
With  England  if  tlie  day  go  hard. 

To  Berwick  speed  amain. — 
But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid  ! 
My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid. 

When  here  we  meet  again." — 
He  waited  not  for  answer  there  ; 
And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair. 


100  SCOTT TOE.  HI. 

Nor  ]ieeJ  the  discontented  look 
From  either  squire  ;  but  spuiTed  amain, 
And,  dashing  through  the  battle  plain, 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 

*' The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life  ' 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour ! — 

Short  greeting-  serves  in  time  of  strife  : — 
Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power  : 

Myself  will  rule  this  central  host, 
Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 

My  sons  command  the  vaward  post. 
With  Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight ; 
Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light. 
Shall  be  in  rearward  of  the  fight. 

And  succour  those  that  need  it  most. 
Now,  gallant  Marmion,  well  I  know. 
Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go  ; 
Edmund,  the  admiral,  Tunstall  there, 
Witli  thee  their  charge  will  blithely  share 
There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too. 
Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  tioie." — 
*' Thanks,  noble  Surrey  !"  Marmion  said, 
Nor  further  greeting  there  be  paid  ; 
But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt. 
Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 
Of"  Marmion  !  Marmion  !"  that  the  cry 
Up  Flodden  Mountain  shrilling  high. 
Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 


SCOTT — VOL.  III.  101 


Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 
With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  hill ; 
On  which  (for  far  the  day  was  spent) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 
The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning"  knew, 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view  : 
Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
**  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay. 
No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day. — 
But,  see  !  look  up — on  Flodden  bent. 
The  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke. 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill. 
All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke  ; 
Volumed  and  vast,  and  rolling-  far, 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war, 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke  ; 
Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone. 
Announced  their  march  ;  their  tread  alone. 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown. 

At  times  a  stifled  hum, 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain  throne 

King  James  did  rushing  come. — 
Scarce  could  they  hear,  or  see  their  foes, 
Until  at  weapon  point  they  close, — 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust. 
With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 

And  such  a  yell  was  there, 
12 


102  SCOTT — VOL.  iir. 

of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 
As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 

And  fiends  in  upper  air. 
Long  looked  the  anxious  squires  ;  their  eye 
Could  in  the  darkness  nought  descry. 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 
Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast ; 
And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears 
Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears  ; 
And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  marked  they  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave. 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave  5 

But  nought  distinct  they  see  : 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain  ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flashed  amain  5 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain  ; 
Crests  rose,  and  stooped,  and  rose  again, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 
Among  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly  : 
And  stainless  TunstalPs  banner  white. 
And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright. 
Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight, 

Although  against  them  come. 
Of  gallant  Gordons  many  a  one. 
And  many  a  stubborn  Highlandman, 


SCOTT — VOX.  nr.  102 

And  many  a  rngg-ed  Border  clan, 
With  Huntley,  and  with  Home. 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argj^le 
Though  there  the  western  mountaineer 
Rushed  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear. 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broad-sword  plied 

'Twas  vain. But  Fortune,  on  the  right, 

With  fickle  smile,  cheered  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white, — 

The  Howard's  lion  fell ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle  yell. 
The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky  : 
A  Home  !  a  Gordon  !  was  tlie  cry  ; 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows  ; 
Advanced, — forced  back, — now  low,  now  high. 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose  : 
As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale. 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 

It  waveretl  mid  the  foes. 
No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear  : — 
*'  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints  !  I  swear, 

I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare 
May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer,— 


104  SCOTT VOL.  IIX. 

I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain. 
Followed  by  aU  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
Made,  for  a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose, — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around. 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground. 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too  ; — ^j^et  staid. 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid. 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly. 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread. 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head. 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red. 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rushed  by  ; , 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast. 
To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste, 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels. 
Left  in  that  di'eadful  hour  alone : 

Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels  . 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own. 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. 

The  scattered  van  of  England  wheels  ;— 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  roared,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?" 


SCOTT VOt.  III.  105 

They  i^y,  or,  maddened  by  despair, 

Fight  but  to  die.—'*  Is  Wilton  there  ?" 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drenched  with  gore. 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strained  the  broken  brand  -, 
His  arms  were  smeared  with  blood,  and  sand. 
Dragged  from  among  the  horses'  feet. 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon  crest  and  plumage  gone. 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  ! — 
Young  Blount  his  armour  did  unlaee. 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face. 

Said — "By  Saint  George,  he's  gone! 
That  spear  wound  has  our  master  sped  ; 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head  ! 

Good  night  to  Marmion." 
•'  Unnurtured  Blount  !  thy  brawling  cease  : 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace ;  "  peace  !" 

When,  doffed  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air, 

Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare  : 
*'  Where's  Hany  Blount  ^  Fitz -Eustace  where  r 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ! 
Redeem  my  pennon, — charge  again  ! 
Cry — '  Marmion  to  the  rescue  !' — Vuln  ! 
Last  of  my  race  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again  !— 


Ij^S  feCOTT — VOL.  lil. 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's  : — 63', 

To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring  ; 

Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring — 

Fitz-Eustace  to  Lord  SuiTey  hie  : 

Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field  ; 

His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield  . 

Edmund  is  down  ; — my  life  is  reft ; — 

The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 

Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 

With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 

Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host. 

Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 

Must  I  bid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets  !  fly  ! 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." — 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay  ; 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away. 

Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 

And  half  he  murmured, — "Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst. 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water,  from  the  spring. 
To  slake  my  dying  thirst  !" — 

O,  woman  !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made  ; 
AVhen  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  !  — 


SCOTT VOL.  III.  107 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 
When  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nig-h  streamlet  ran  : 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears  ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  stooped  her  by  the  runnel's  side, 

Bat  in  abhon-ence  backward  drew, 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark  red  tide 

"Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ! — behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain-cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
"  Drink,  weahy.  pilgkim.  duink.  and.  piiat 
For.  the.  kixu.  soul.  of.  Sibil  Grey. 

Who.  built,  this,  cross,  and.  well." 
She  filled  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied. 
And  with  sm-prise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supporting  Marmion's  head  . 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought. 

To  shrive  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave. 
And  as  she  stooped  his  brow  to  lave — 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 


1©^  SCOTT— VOL.  11  f. 

'*  Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head  :'-' 

Theji,  as  remembrance  rose, — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer  ! 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare  . 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare  !" 
*'  Alas  !"  she  said,  "  the  while, — 
O  think  of  youi*  immortal  weal ! 
In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal ; 

She  died  at  Holy  Isle." 
Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  ground, 
As  lig-ht  as  if  he  felt  no  wound  ; 
Thoug-h  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  ton-ents,  from  his  wounded  side. 
*'  Then  it  was  trutli  !" — he  said — "  I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Would  spare  me  but  a  day  ! 
For  wasting  fire,  and  dying-  groan. 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 
Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be  ! — this  dizzy  trance — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance. 
And  doubly  cursed  my  faiUng  brand  I 
A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand." — 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk* 
Supported  by  the  trembUng  Monk. 


SCOTT TOl.  III.  109 

Witli  fruitless  labour,  Clafa  bound, 

And  strove  to  stanch,  the  gushing  wound  : 

The  Monk,  with  unavailing"  cares, 

Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers  ;— 

Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 

A  lady*s  voice  was  in  his  ear. 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear, 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
*^  In  the  lost  battle^  borne  down  by  theftying^ 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying .'" 

So  the  notes  rung. 
"Avoid  thee.  Fiend  ! — with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand  ! 
O  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine  ; 

O  think  on  faith  and  bliss  !— ^ 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been. 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." — 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  g^e, 

And — Stanley  was  the  cry  ; — 
A  light  on  Marmion's  vfsage  spreadj 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  :  •  , 

With  dying  hand,  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  Victory  ! — 
"  Charge,  Chester,  charge  !  On,  Stanley,  on  !"— 
AVere  the  last  words  of  Marmion, 
K 


no  SCOTT VOL.  III. 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell. 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell. 
Per  still  the  Scots,  around  their  king. 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring, 
Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing. 

Where  Huntley,  and  where  Home  ■  — 
O  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne. 

That  to  King  Charles  did  coine. 
When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  peer. 

On  Roncesvalles  died  ! 
Such  blast  miglit  warn  them,  not  in  vain. 
To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain, 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again. 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side 
Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  flies. 
And  round  it  toils  and  bleeds  and  dies. 

Our  Caledonian  pride  ! 
In  vain  the  wish — ^for  far  away. 
While  spoil  and  havoc  mark  tlieir  way. 
Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 
"  O  Lady,"  cried  the  Monk,  "  away  !"— , 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed  ; 
And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair. 
Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 
There  all  the  niglit  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And,  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman.  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 


SCOTT VOL.  III.  Ill 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning-  heath, 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hailed. 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assailed  ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep, 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep. 

That  fought  around  their  king. 
But  )''et,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow. 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  b'U-men  deal  the  ghastly  blow. 

Unbroken  was  the  ring  ; 
The  stubborn  spearmen  still  made  good 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood. 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight  ;-^ 
Linked  in  the  serried  phalanx  light. 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well. 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  king. 
J'hen  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shattered  bands ; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew. 
As  mountain-waves,  iroai  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foeman  know  ; 
Their  king,  their  lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 


112  SCOTT TOL.  Ill, 

When  streams  are  swoln,  and  soiitii  winds  blow , 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash. 

While  many  a  broken  band. 
Disordered,  through  her  currents  dash. 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land  ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail. 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong  ; 
Still  from  tlie  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field, 
Where  shivered  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield  ! 


THE    HARP. 

I  WAS  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

My  cliildhood  scorned  each  childish  toy 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy. 

To  musing  prone, 
I  wooed  my  solitar}'  joy. 

My  harp  alone. 

My  youth  with  bold  Ambition's  mood, 
Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood 
Where  ray  poor  father's  cottage  stood. 


SCOTT VOL.  IV.  113 

To  fame  unknown  5 
What  should  my  soaring  wings  make  good  ^ 
My  harp  alone. 

Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fir«. 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire  ; 
The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

And  praised  the  tone  ^ 
^V'hat  could  presumptuous  hope  imspire  ? 

;My  hai'p  alone. 

At  Manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst. 
And  Manliood's  pride  the  vision  cursed, 
And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Love's  sway  to  own  ; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  lulled  me  first. 

My  harp  alone. 

Wo  came  wi,th  war,  and  want  with  wo  .- 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe  : 

Can  aught  atone 
My  fields  made  waste,  my  cot  laid  low  ( 

My  harp  alone  ! 

Ambition's  dreams  I*ve  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart, 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venomed  dart. 

When  hope  was  flown 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heait. 

My  harp  alone  ! 
K3 


lU 


Then,  over  mountain,  moor  and  hil], 
My  faithful  harp,  I'll  bear  thee  still ; 
And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 

Is  well  nigh  gone. 
Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill 

My  harp  alone  ! 


THE    CXPRESS    WREATR. 

O  LADT,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree  1 
Too  lively  glow  the  Uhes  light 
The  varnished  hoUy's  all  too  bright, 
The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine  ; 
But,  lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree  ! 

Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twhie 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine  ; 
The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew, 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due  ; 
The  myrtle  bough  bids  lovers  Uve, 
But  that  Matilda  will  not  give  ; 
Then,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  a  ee  ! 

Let  meny  England  proudly  rear 
Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear ; 


SCOTT VOL,  IV-  115 

Let  Albin  bind  her  bonnet  blue 

With  heath  and  hare-bell  dipped  in  dew  ; 

On  favoured  Erin's  crest  be  seen 

The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 

But,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 

Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair  ; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel  leaves 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell ; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing  bell, 
Then,  lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

Yes  !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough  ; 
But,  O  Matilda,  twine  not  now  ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past. 
And  I  have  looked  and  loved  my  last ! 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 
With  pansies,  rosemary,  and  rue. 
Then,  lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 


THE    BANDITS'    CAVE. 


"  I  TAKE  thy  proffer,  Guy, 
But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie  }" 


116  SCOTT — ^VOI.  IV. 

"Not  far  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said  5 
**  Descend  and  cross  the  river's  bed. 
Where  rises  yonder  cliff  so  gray." 
**  Do  thou,'*  said  Bertram,  "lead  the  way.-' 
Then  muttered,  "  It  is  best  make  sure  ; 
Ciuy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." — 
He  followed  down  the  steep  descent, 
Then  through  the  Greta's  sti-eams  they  went, 
And,  when  they  reached  the  farther  shore. 
They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 
The  flinty  rock  a  murmured  din  5 
But  when  Guy  pulled  the  wilding-  spray. 
And  brambles  from  its  base  away. 
He  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 
A  little  entrance,  low  and  square. 
Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone. 
Dark  winding  through  the  hving  stone. 
Here  entered  Denzil,  Bertram  here  5 
And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear. 
As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 
Of  old,  the  cavern  strait  and  rude. 
In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hewed  5 
And  Brignal's  woods,  and  Scargill's  wave, 
E'en  now  o'er  many  a  sister  cave. 
Where,  far  within  the  darksome  rift. 
The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 
But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade, 


SCOTT — vol.  IT.  lir 


And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 
The  banquet-hall,  and  fortress  too 
Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew. 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept : 
There  on  his  sordid  pallet  slept 
Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drained 
Still  in  his  slumbering-  grasp  retained 
Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past ; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near. 
Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 
And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven, 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven 
While  Bertram  showed  amid  the  crew, 
The  master-fiend  that  Milton  drew. 


To  g^eet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp. 

That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known- 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own  ! 

Yet  some  there  are,  whose  brows  retain, 

Less  deeply  stamped,  her  brand  and  stain. 

See  yon  pale  stripling  !  when  a  boy, 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy  ! 

Now  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined, 

An  early  image  fills  his  mind : 

yhe  cottage,  once  his  «re*s,  he  sees. 


118  SCOTT — ^TOL.  IT. 

Embowered  upon  the  banks  of  Tees  ; 

He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 

And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainsford-green. 

A  tear  is  springing — but  the  zest 

Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest. 

Hath  to  loud  laughter  stiiTed  the  rest. 

On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 

For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat ; 

Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air, 

As  one  victorious  o'er  despair. 

He  bids  the  iiiddy  cup  go  round. 

Till  sense  and  son-ow  both  are  drowned, 

And  soon  in  merry  wassail  he, 

The  life  of  all  their  revelry. 

Peals  his  loud  song  ! — 

O  Brignal  banks  are  wild  and  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green. 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  tun-et  high, 
A  maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily. 


O  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fajr. 
And  Greta  woods  are  green  ; 


SCOTT — VOL.  IV. 

I'd  rather  rang-e  with  Edmund  there, 
Than  reign  our  EngUsh  queen," — 

"  If,  Maiden,  thou  would*st  wend  with  me. 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town. 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we. 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  full  well  you  may, 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speedy 

As  blithe  as  queen  of  May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she, "  Brignal  banks  are  fau'. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green  : 
I'd  rather  range  with  Edmund  there. 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

*'  I  read  you  by  your  bugle  born. 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  green  wood." — 
**  A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn. 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignal  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay, 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 

To  reign  his  queen  of  May  ! 


n\> 


12d  SCOTT— TOL.  IV. 

**  With  burnished  brand  and  musquetoon. 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon. 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum."— 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  heai-. 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum. 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 


And  O  !  though  Brignal  banks  be  fair 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dai-e, 

Would  reign  my  queen  of  May  ! 

''Maiden  !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die  -, 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead. 

Were  better  mate  than  I  ! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met, 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough. 

What  once  we  were  we  all  forget. 
Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 

CHOBUS. 

Yet  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green. 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  sumraec  queen."'— 


SCOTT — vol.  IV.  121 


When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song", 
AVas  silence  on  the  sullen  throng", 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsv. 


BERTRAM  THE  BUCCANEER. 

**  Tidings  from  the  host. 
Of  weight, — a  messenger  comes  post." 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast, 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  expressed— 
"Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire  5 
Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire." — 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride, 
The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide. 
And  the  buff  coat,  in  ample  fold, 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould, 
Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 
To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy, 
But  marked  by  a  disdainful  smile. 
He  saw  and  scorned  the  petty  wile, 
When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place, 
Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face 
Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 
To  show  his  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 

*  In  this  character,  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  sketched  one  of  those  Wes' 
India  adventurers,  who,  during  the  course  of  the  seventeenth  ccnturv, 
were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of  Buccaneer;. 


122  9C0TT XOL.  1V> 

His  guest,  the  while,  laid  slow  aside 

The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide. 

And  to  the  torch  glanced  bread  and  clear 

The  corslet  of  a  cuirassier  ; 

Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 

And  from  the  dank  plume  dashed  the  dew. 

From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands, 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

And,  tui-ning  to  the  genial  board, 

Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 

Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said. 

Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed  ; 

As  free  from  ceremony's  sway. 

As  famished  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer, 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  pace  aside. 
Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 
Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast. 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  lust. 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast. 
Almost  he  seemed  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew. 


SCOTT VOL.  ly.  IJ^o 

And  left  him  with  the  strang-er,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long-  proclaim 
A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime 
And  toil  had  done  the  work  of  time, 
Roughened  the  brow,  the  temples  bared. 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared. 
Vet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame. 
The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  cm-led. 
The  eye,  that  seemed  to  scorn  the  world. 
Thai  Up  had  ten'or  never  blanched  ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-drop  quenchfdj 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow. 
That  mocked  at  pain,  and  knew  not  wo  ; 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  stonn. 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow. 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow. 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball, 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorned  them  ^11. 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  hardened  look, 
Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook. 
Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 
On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face ; 


124 


StOTT — VOL.   IV. 


For  evil  passions,  cherished  long, 
Had  ploughed  them  with  impressions  strong. 
All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 
Light  folly,  past  witli  youth  away, 
But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour. 
The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 
And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew. 
Had  it  been  tamed  when  life  was  new- 
Had  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone  ; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chastened  iiund. 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed. 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

E'en  now,  by  conscience  unrestrained, 
Clogged  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stained, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore  : 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard. 
Quailed  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard. 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train. 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show. 
Unasked,  the  news  he  longed  to  know. 


SCOTT — VOL.  IT.  125 

While  on  far  other  subject  hung- 
His  heart,  than  faltered  from  his  tongue. 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort. 
Returned  him  answer  dark  and  short. 
Or  started  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange. 
And  forced  the  embarrassed  host  to  buy, 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 

Awhile  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 

Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 

And  Church  reformed — but  felt  rebuke 

Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look. 

Then  stammered — "  Has  a  field'been  fought  .' 

Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought  ? 

For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war. 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host, 

Until  the  field  were  won  or  lost.'-* 


ALLEIT-A-DAIE. 

AUen-a-Dale  has  no  faggot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
AUen-a  Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
¥et  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
L  2 

f 


126  SCOTT — TOL.  IV. 

Come,  read  me  my  riddle  !  come  hearken  my  tale  ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  AUen-a-Dale. 

The  baron  of  Ravensworth  prances  in  pride. 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side, 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  g-ame. 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame  ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  lord  Dacre  than  AUen-a-dale  ? 

AUen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 

Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as  bright 

AUen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord. 

Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  will  draw  at  his  word  ; 

And  the  best  of  our  nobles  liis  bonnet  will  vail, 

Who  at  Rere-cross  on  Stanemore  meets  Allen-a-Dale 

AUen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come  -, 

The  mother  she  asked  of  his  house  and  his  home  : 

**  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair  on  the  hill, 

My  hall," quoth  bold  Allen,  "shows  gallanter  still ; 

'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so  pjile. 

And  with  all  its  bright  spangles  !"  said  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone ; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be  gone  ! 
But  loud  on  the  morrow  theu*  wail  and  their  cry 
He  had  laughed  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye. 
And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love  tale. 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale. 


SCOTT VOL.  IV.  127 


HElXTEI-LTy.* 

I  eiiMBED  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn, 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleamed  misty  and  wide  ; 
All  was  still,  save,  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yelhng, 

And  startUng  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Stridenedge  round  the  Redtarn  was  bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending. 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 
When  I  marked  the  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer  had  died. 

Dark-green  was  that  spot  mid  the  brown  mountain-heather, 

Where  the  pilgrim  of  nature  lay  stretched  in  decay. 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandoned  to  weather. 
Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless  clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted  though  lonely  extended. 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favourite  attended. 
The  much  loved  remains  of  her  master  defended. 
And  chased  the  hill  fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was  slumber ; 

When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst  thou 
start  5 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou  number. 

Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy  heart  ? 
And,  O  !  was  it  meet,  that,  no  requiem  read  o'er  him, 

*  In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  youn^  gentleman  of  talents,  and  of  a  most 
amiable  disposition,  perished  by  losing  his  way  on  the  mountain  Hellrellyn. 
Mis  remains  were  not  discovered  till  three  months  afterwards,  wlien  they 
were  found  guarded  by  a  faithful  terrier  bitch,  his  constant  attendant  dur- 
ing frequent  solitary  rambles  through  the  wilds  ©f  Quiuberl^nd  and  W&X' 
morelantj. 


128  stoTT— VOL.  ir. 

No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him. 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretched  before  hin^ 
Unhonoured  the  pilgrim  from  life  should  depart  ? 

"When  a  prince  to  the  fate  of  the  peasant  has  yielded. 
The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-hg-hted  hall ; 

With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded, 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 

Through  the  courts,  at  deep    midnight,  the  torches  ai'e 
gleaming ; 

In  the  proudly  arched  chapel  the  banners  are  beaming  ; 

Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 
Lamenting  a  chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain  lamb  ; 

When,  wildered,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in  stature. 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 

And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake  lying, 

Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gay  plover  flying. 

With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


HEBRIBEAJT    SCEJfEBT. 


"  If  true  mine  eye 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
Nortli  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye  : 
No  human  foot  comes  here, 


aCOTT V«L.  y.  1-9 

And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow. 
If  my  g-ood  Lieg-e  love  liunter's  bow, 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go, 

And  strike  a  mountain  deer  ? 
Allan,  my  Page,  shall  with  us  wend, 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend. 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  oui*  cheer." — 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand, 
Their  row-boat  launched  and  leapt  to  land, 

And  left  their  skiff"  and  train. 
Where  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock^ 
Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock. 

To  mingle  with  the  main. 

A  while  their  route  they  silent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer. 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

*'  St.  Mary  !  what  a  scene  is  here  ! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand, 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  land. 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led  ; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wandered  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  crossed  many  a  moor. 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  tliis. 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness. 
Ne'er  did  rny  wandering  footsteps  press, 

Where'er  1  happed  to  roam." — 


130  SCOTT — TOL.   T 

No  marvel  thus  the  monarch  spake  .- 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  tkat  dread  lake. 

With  its  dark  ledge  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strang-e  and  shattered  way 

Through  the  rude  bosom  of  tiie  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice. 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss. 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 
The  v.dldest  glen,  but  this,  can  show 
Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow  ; 
On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow. 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben, 
But  here,  above,  around,  below. 

On  mountain  or  in  glen. 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power. 

The  weaiy  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown. 
Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone. 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer's  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew, 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain-side. 

And  wilder,  forward  as  they  wound. 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound 


^COTT — VOL.  >  -131 

Huge  terraces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cambered  track  : 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar. 
Hurled  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear. 
When  yelled  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer. 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er  5 
And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay. 
So  that  a  stripling  arm  might  sway 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise. 
In  Nature's  rage  at  random  thrown. 
Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 
The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  changC;, 
Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare. 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furled. 
Or  on  the  sable  waters  curled. 
Or,  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirled. 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 
And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower 
When,  brief  and  tierce,  tlie  mountain  showei 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down. 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams. 
Whitened  with  foam  a  thousand  sti-eams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown. 

"  This  lake,"  said  Bruce,  "  whose  barriers  di'ear 
Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer. 
Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer, 


132  suoTT — yei..  r. 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread, 
How  term  you  its  dark  waves  }  and  how 
Yon  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow. 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread, 
That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 
The  griesly  gulfs,  and  slaty  rifts, 

Which  seam  its  shivered  head  ?" 
"  Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 
Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim, 
P'rom  old  Cuchulhn,  chief  of  fame. 


BHUCE  S    IlEJfCOXTRE    WITH    KOBBSBS. 

"  But  soft  > 
Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 
Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtered  stag. 
"Who  may  they  be  !  But  late  you  said 
No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread." — 

**  So  said  I — and  believed  in  sooth," 
Ronald  replied,  "  I  spoke  the  truth. 
Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone. 
Five  men — they  mark  us,  and  come  on  : 
And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 
I  guess  them  of  tlie  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  Liege." — "  So  let  it  be ; 
I've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three-— 
But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid  ; 


3COTT — VOL.   V.  13i 

rhen  be  our  battle  thus  arrayed. 

If  our  free  passage  they  contest ; 

Cope  thou  with  two,  Til  match  the  rest.'' 

"  Not  so,  my  Liege — for  by  my  life. 

This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 

My  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small; 

And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 

But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow, — 

Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow, 

And  were  my  Monarch's  order  given. 

Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even.^- 

"  No  !  not  to  save  my  life  !"  he  said  j 

•'  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head. 

Too  rashly  spilled — we  soon  shall  know, 

Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." — 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh  ;— r 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  Monarch's  eye. 
Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-looked,  unwilling  to  be  seen ; 
They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fair  arrayed. 
With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid. 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers. 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three,  that  lagged  small  space  behind, 
Seemed  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind  j 
Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o*er  them  cast, 
M 


134  SCOTT — vol.  T. 

Made  a  rude  fence  against  the  blast ; 
Their  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare^ 
Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  their  hair ;       • 
For  arms,  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand, 
A  club,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

Onward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track  ; — 
*'  Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back," 
Said  Bruce  ;  *'In  deserts  when  they  meet, 
Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street," — 
Still,  at  his  stern  command,  tliey  stood, 
And  proffered  greeting  brief  and  rude. 
But  acted  courtesy  so  ill, 
As  seemed  of  fear,  and  not  of  will. 
*'  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be  ; 
Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea. 
Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer, 
Will  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer. " — 
"If  from  the  sea,  where  lies  your  bark  ?" 
*'  Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark  ! 
Wrecked  yesternight ;  but  we  are  men. 
Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 
•  The  shades  come  down — the  day  is  shut — 
Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut  !" — 
"  Our  vessel  waits  us  in  the  bay  5 
Thanks  for  your  proffer — have  good  day." — 
*•  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 
Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glowed  !"— 
"It  was." — **  Then  spare  your  needless  pain, 


i 


SCOTT — VOL.    T. 

there  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 
We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head. 
When  with  St.  George's  blazon  red 
A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight. 
And  yours  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." 

"Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news  !" 
Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bmce  ; 
*'Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind. 
Yet  rugged  brows  have  bosoms  kind  ; 
We  will  go  with  them — food  and  fire 
And  sheltering  roof  our  wants  require. 
Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep. 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep. — 
Good  fellows,  thanks  ;  your  guests  we'll  be, 
And  well  will  pay  the  coui'tesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies, 
— Nay,  soft  !  we  mix  not  companies. — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone. 
And  we  will  follow  you  ; — lead  on," — 

They  reached  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  against  a  rock  displayed. 

And  there,  on  entering,  found 
A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 
III  suited  with  such  savage  scene. 
In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  gi'een. 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 


135 


136  SCOTT — TOL.  V. 

His  g-arb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear 
Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  his  hair, 
His  youthful  cheek  was  marred  by  care, 

His  eyes  in  sorrow  drowned. 
*'  Whence  this  poor  boy  ?'* — As  Ronald  spoke. 
The  voice  his  trance  of  an^ish  broke  5 
As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream. 
He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

And  wildly  gazed  around  ; 
Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turned. 
And  his  dark  cheek  with  blushes  burned. 

*'  Whose  is  the  boy  !"  again  he  said. 
**  By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made  p^ 
He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 
That  music  has  more  charms  than  gold  4 
For,  though  from  earliest  childhood  mute. 
The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 
And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play. 
And  well  can  drive  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee  ; 
For  me,  the  favouring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  upon  the  galley  shroud. 
Makes  bhther  melody." 
''Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound  V^ 

*'  Ay,  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 
A  crone  m  our  late  shipwreck  drowned, 

And  -hence  the  silly  stripling's  wo. 
More  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say. 


SCOTT TOL.  T.  1S7 


Oar  captive  but  since  yesterday  ; 
When  wind  and  weather  waxed  so  grim. 
We  little  listed  think  of  him. — 
But  why  waste  time  in  idle  words  ? 
Sit  to  your  cheer — unbelt  your  swords." 
Sudden  the  captive  turned  his  head. 
And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 
It  was  a  keen  and  warning  look, 
And  well  the  chief  the  signal  took. 

«'  Kind  host,"  he  said,  "  our  needs  require 
A  separate  board  and  separate  fire  ; 
For  know,  that  on  a  pilgrimage 
Wend  I,  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 
And,  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast. 
Long  as  this  hallowed  task  shall  last. 
We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword. 
Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board  ; 
And  never  share  one  common  sleep. 
But  one  must  still  his  vigil  keep. 
Thus  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend, 
We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end. — 
'•  A  churlish  vow,"  the  eldest  said, 
''And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obeyed. 
How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 
That  pays  our  kindness  harsh  return, 
We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal  ?" — 
** — Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  arc  steel 
And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 
M2 


138  SCOTT — VOL.  V. 

Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast.'^— 
Their  host*s  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell. 
His  teeth  are  clenched,  his  features  swell ; 
Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 
Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire, 
Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 
The  Monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 
With  laugh  constrained,— "Let  every  man 
Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan  ! 
Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep. 
And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." — 

Their  fire  at  separate  distance  burns, 

By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns  ; 

For  evil  seems  the  old  man's  eye. 

Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 

Still  he  avoided  forward  look. 

But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 

A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance. 

By  doubt  and  cunning  marked  at  once,- 

Which  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray. 

From  under  eyebrows  shagged  and  gray. 

The  younger,  too,  who  seemed  his  son. 

Had  that  dark  look,  the  timid  shun  ; 

The  half-clad  serfs  behind  them  sate. 

And  scowled  a  glare  twixt  fear  and  hate — 

Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept, 

Couched  down  and  seemed  to  sleep,  or  slept. 

Nor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 


{ 


SCOTT — TOI.    ?.  339 

Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong", 

A  longer  watch  of  sorrow  made, 

But  stretdied  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid. 

Not  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 

The  King,  but  waiy  watch  provides. 

Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  past. 

Then  wakes  the  King,  young  Allan  last ; 

Thus  ranked^  to  give  the  youthful  Page 

The  rest  required  by  tender  age. 

— What  is  Lord  Ronald's  wakeful  thought. 

To  chase  the  langour  toil  had  brought  ? — 

(For  deem  not  that  he  deigned  to  throw 

Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe,) — 

He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel, 

When  at  her  foeman's  feet  she  fell. 

Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle. 

She  glanced  on  him  with  favouring  eyes. 

At  Woodstocke  when  he  won  the  prize 

Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair, 

In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 

Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 

His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride^ 

To  Edith,  turn — O  how  decide, 

When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given. 

And  there  his  faith  stands  plight  to  Heaven ' 

No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep. 

For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 

Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl.. 


140  SCOTT VOL.    V< 

Answered  the  dog  fox  with  his  howl. 
Then  waked  the  King — at  his  request. 
Lord  Ronald  stretched  himself  to  rest. 

What  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say. 
To  drive  the  weary  night  away  ? 
His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought. 
Of  Freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 
Of  castles  stormed,  of  cities  freed, 
Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed. 
Of  England's  roses  reft  ?ind  torn, 
-And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 
Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce, 
As  heroes  think,  so  thought  The  Bruce. 
No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high. 
Sleep  shunned  the  monarch's  thoughtful  eye 
Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 
The  grayish  light  begins  to  spread. 
The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew. 
And  clamoiu-ed  shrill  the  wakening  mew  ; 
Then  watched  the  Page — to  needful  rest 
The  King  resigned  his  anxious  breast. 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task. 
The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 
He  trimmed  the  fire,  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  light  the  splintered  pine ; 
Then  gazed  awhile,  where  silent  laid 
Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind. 


141 


For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind, 
And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive. 
May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 
Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower, 
His  little  sister's  gi-een-wood  bower, 
How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass, 
And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthened  mass, 
But  still  before  his  weary  eye 
In  rays  prolonged  the  blazes  die — 
Again  he  roused  him — on  the  lake 
Looked  forth,  where  now  the  twilight-flake 
Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 
On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  furled. 
The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curled. 
The  short  dark  waves  heaved  to  the  land. 
With  ceaseless  plash  kissed  cliff  or  sand  ;— 
It  was  a  slumb'rous  sound — he  turned 
To  tales  at  which  his  youth  had  burned, 
Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  crossed. 
Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost. 
Of  the  wild  witch's  baneful  cot, 
And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 
Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell. 
Thither  in  fancy  wrapt  he  flies, 
And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise  ; 
The  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more. 
His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor, 
And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 


142  SCOTT VOL.    T 

Gleam  like  a  tirmament  of  stars  ! 
— Hark  !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nymph  speak 
Her  anger  in  that  thrilling-  shriek  ? — 
No  !  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 
Ming-led  the  captive's  warning  scream  ? 
As  from  the  gi'ound  he  strives  to  start, 
A  ruffian  dagger  finds  his  heart ! 
Upward  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes,  .  .  • 
Mui'murs  his  master's  name,  .  .  .  and  dies  : 

Not  so  awoke  the  King  !  his  hand 
Snatched  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand. 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath  ; 
With  this  he  crossed  the  murderer's  path. 

And  venged  young  Allan  well  ! 
The  spattered  brain  and  bubbling  blood 
Hissed  on  the  half-extinguished  wood. 

The  miscreant  gaped  and  fell  ! 
Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord  ; 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword, 
And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone; 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank. 
The  Father-ruffian  of  the  band 
Behind  liim  rears  a  coward  hand  ! 

— O  for  a  moment's  aid. 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow  ^ 
Dash  to  the  eaith  another  foe. 


SCOTT — VOL.   V.  14o 


Above  his  comrade  laid  ! — 
And  it  is  gained — tlie  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm,  and  closely  clung, 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose. 
The  mastered  felon  pressed  the  ground, 
And  gasped  beneath  a  mortal  wound. 

While  o'er  him  stands  The  Bruce. 


LOCHINVAH LADY  HERON  S  SONG. 

O  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
TJirough  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had  none. 
He  rode  all  unarmed  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone  j 

He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none  ? 

But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late  : 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 

AVas  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and  all 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word,  "^ 

•'  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 

Or  to  dance  at  our  brid.il,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ■ " 


144  SCOTT — VOL.  V. 

**I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied  1 — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide — 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine^ 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet ;  the  knight  took  it  up. 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to  sigh. 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 
*'Now  tread  we  a  measure  !'*  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace  5 
"While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume. 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  **  'Twere  better  by  fax 
To  have  matched  oiu-  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  liand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

"When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger  stood  near; 

So  hght  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  s^vung, 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  spmng  ! — 

"  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur  ; 

They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,*'  quoth  young  Lochin^'^ar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgiaves,  they  rode  and  they  ran  : 
There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 


SCOTT MIL.    V.  145 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Nctlicrby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

So  daring-  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ' 


THE    BATTLE    OF    BAWyOCKBURJf . 

It  was  a  night  of  lovely  J  une. 

High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 

Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray  ; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light. 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright, 

Her  winding  river  lay. 
Ah,  gentle  planet  !  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee,  next  returning  night. 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 
And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore. 
And  piles  of  slaughtered  men  and  horse, 
And  Forth  that  floats  tlie  frequent  corse, 
And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  thy  silver  light  in  vain  ! 
But  now,  from  England's  host,  the  cr\ 
Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 
While  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 
I'he  murmm-ed  prayer,  the  early  mass  ! — 
Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given  5 
There,  bands  o'ermatched  sought  aid  from  Heaven 

On  Gillie's  hill,  whose  height  commands 
The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 

N 


146  SGOTT — YOI,.   T 

With  serf  and  pag-e  unfit  for  war.. 
To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 
O  !  with  what  doubtful  agony 
She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky  ! — 
Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun, 
And  glistens  now  Demayet  dun  ; 
Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill,  ' 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum  ^ 
No  ! — distant,  but  increasing  still, 
The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill. 
V»'ith  tlie  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 
Responsive  from  the  Scottisli  host, 
Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  v/ere  tossed. 
His  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  crossed. 

And  started  from  the  ground ; 
Armed  and  aiTayed  for  instant  fight. 
Rose  arclier,  spearman,  scpiire,  and  knigbl. 
And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  briglit 
The  dread  battalia  frowned. 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view. 
The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew. 
Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide. 
When  the  rough  west  hath  chafed  his  pride. 
And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 

To  all  that  bars  his  way  ! 
In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode. 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode, 
\nd  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 
The  Monarch  held  Ms  swav- 


.SCOTT TOL.   V.  147 

Beside  liim  many  a  war  horse  fumes, 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes. 
Where  many  a  kni^^ht  in  battle  known, 
And  some  who  spuis  had  first  braced  on. 
And  deemed  that  fight  should  see  them  won. 
King  Edward's  bests  obey. 

De  Argentine  attends  iiis  side. 

With  stout  De  V^alence,  Pembroke's  pride, 

Selected  champions  from  the  train, 

To  wait  upon  his  bridle-rein. 

Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed— 

— At  once,  before  his  sight  amazed. 
Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield  ; 

Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent?. 

Each  warrior  to  the  ground  is  bent. 

"  The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent  ! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneeled.'* — 

"Ay  !  but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 

And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours  ! 

See  where  yon  b;u'cfoot  Abbot  stands. 

Arid  blesses  them  w^th  lifted  hands  ! 

Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneeled, 

These  men  will  die,  or  w;n  the  field." — 

*•  Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win  ! 

Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin." — 

Eaii  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high, 

Ju';t  as  the  Noi*tnern  ranks  arose. 
Signal  for  England's  archery 


148  scorr — >oL.  ». 

To  halt  ami  bend  tlieir  bows. 
Then  stepped  eacli  yeoman  fortli  a  pace. 
Glanced  at  the  intervening-  space, 

And  raised  his  left  hand  liigh  ; 
To  the  rig-ht  ear  the  cords  they  bring- — 
^—At  once  ten  tliousand  bow-strings  ring". 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly  ! 
Nor  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot  ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast, 
Forth  whisthng'  came  the  gray-goose  wing. 
As  the  wild  hail  stones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide. 
Nor  lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide  ; 
Wo,  wo  to  Scotland's  bannered  pride. 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last ! 
Upon  the  right,  behind  the  wood. 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted,  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry  ; — 
• — ^With  foot  in  stiiTup,  hand  on  mane, 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train, 
Until  the  archers  gained  the  plain  ; 

Then,   "  mount,  ye  gallants  free  !  " 
He  cried  ;  and,  vaulting  from  the  ground. 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  h.gh  their  glittering  crests  they  toss. 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss  ; 


SCOTT VOL.    V.  149 

The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest. 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce, — 
**  Forth,  Marshal,  on  tlie  peasant  foe  ! 
We*ll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow. 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose  !" — 

Then  spurs  were  dashed  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rushed  among  the  archer  ranks. 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let. 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set, 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armour  slight 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might  '' 
Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail, 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail  ? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung. 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung-, 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 
Give  note  of  triiimph  and  of  rout ! 
Awhile,  with  stubborn  hardihood. 
Their  Enghsh  hearts  the  strife  made  good  , 
Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side. 
Compelled  to  flight  they  scatter  wide. — 
Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee, 
And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee  ! 
The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 
Shall  in  the  green-wood  ring  no  more  ! 
Round  Wakefield's  merry  may-pole  now, 
The  maids  may  twine  the  summer  bough, 
N2 


IjO  SCOTT — VOL.    V. 

May  northv^-ai-d  look  with  longing-  glance, 

For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 

For  the  blithe  archers  look  in  vain  ! 

Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o*erta'en, 

Pierced  through,  trode  down,  by  thousands  slain. 

They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 

The  King  with  scorn  belield  their  flight. 
*'  Are  these,"  he  said,   "  onr  yeomen  wight } 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldrick  bore  I 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park. 
Than  make  a  manly  foe  their  mark, — 
Forward  each  gentleman  and  knight ! 
Let  gentle  blood  sliow  generous  might, 
And  chivahy  redeem  the  fight !" — 
To  right-ward  of  the  wild  affray. 
The  field  showed  fair  and  level  way  : 
But,  in  mid-space.  The  Bmce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit, 
With  turf  and  brushwood  hidden  yet. 

That  formed  a  giiastly  snare. 
Rusliing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came, 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame, 

llvat  panted  for  the  shock  ! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread. 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamour  dread, 
The  wide  plam  thundered  to  their  tread. 
As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 


SCOTT — VOL.   V.  151 


Down  !  down  !  in  headlong  overthrow, 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go. 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field  1 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge. 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge  ;— 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield  ! 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear. 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless  here  ! 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  waniors  swells  on  high. 
And  steeds  tliat  shriek  in  agony  ! 
They  came  like  mountain-torrent  red. 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed  ; 
They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave. 
When  swallowed  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil. 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil. 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own  ! 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  the  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here  ; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known. 
Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  De  Brotherton, 
And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vere. 
There  Gloster  phed  the  bloody  sword. 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sanzaverc, 


152  SCOTT — VOL.   V. 

Ross,  Montague,  aud  Mauley,  came, 
And  Courtenay*s  pride,  and  Percy's  fame — 
Names  known  too  well  in  Scotland's  war. 
At  Falkii-k,  Methven,  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years. 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the'  rearward  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread. 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set. 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met. 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side. 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried. 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride, 
And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race  \ 

Firmly  they  kept  their  ground  ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  pressed. 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest. 
And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast. 

And  Slaughter  revelled  round. 

Unflinching  foot  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met  5 
The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
Were  drowned  amid  the  shriller  clang. 
That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 


SCOTT — VOL.   V.  153 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot. 
Both  Southern  fierce  and  hardy  Scot  j — 
And  O  !  amid  that  waste  of  life, 
What  various  motives  fired  the  strife  ! 
The  aspiring"  Noble  bled  for  fame, 
The  Patiiot  for  his  country's  claim  ; 
This  Knight  his  youthful  strength  to  prove. 
And  that  to  win  his  lady's  love  ; 
Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 
From  habit  some,  or  hardihood. 
But  ruffian  stem,  and  soldier  good. 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 
From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road. 
On  the  same  bloody  morning,  trode. 

To  that  dark  inn,  the  Grave  ! 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins. 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins, 
nigh  rides  the  sun,  thick  rolls  the  dust. 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now. 
And  Randolph  wipes  his  bloody  brow. 
Nor  less  had  toiled  each  Southern  knight. 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor-clasp. 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear. 
And  sinks  thy  falchion,  bold  D$  Vere  i 


1,54  seoiTT — vol.  y.. 

The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast. 
And  g-allant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone  ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word, 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heai'd, 

"My  merry -men,  fight  on  !" — 

Bmce  with  the  pilot's  wary  eye. 
The  slackening  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free  ! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  rock  ; 
Rush  on  w^ith  Highland  sword  and  targe,. 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge  ; 
Now,  forward  to  the  shock  !" — 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown. 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone  i 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone, 
And  loud  King  Robert's  voice  was  known — 
"  Carrick  press  on — they  fail,  they  fail ! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Innisgail, 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast  ! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife. 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  life, — 
Tlie  battle  cannot  last !" — 

The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more, 
Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore, 
Alone,  De  Argentine 


SCOTT — VOL.  y.  155 

\ei  bears  on  high  his  red  ci  oss  shield. 

Gathers  the  reliques  of  the  held. 

Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reeled, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 
Brief  strife,  but  fierce,  his  efiforts  raise 
A  bright  but  momentaiy  blaze. 
Fair  Edith  heard  the  Southern  shout. 
Beheld  them  turning  fi-om  the  rout, 
Heard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent, 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew. 
Appeared,  in  her  distracted  view. 

To  hem  the  isles-men  round  ? 
*'  O  God  !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  is  no  rescue  found  ! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on. 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown, 
O  !  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone  ?'* — 

The  multitude  that  watched  afar, 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war. 
Had  not  unmoved  heheld  the  fight. 
When  strove  The  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right  j 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot's  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk. 
Bondsman  and  serf ;  e'en  female  hand 
Stretched  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand  ; 

But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard, 

Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal-word, 


15.^  SCOTT — TO  I.  Y. 

A  frenzy  fired  the  throng  : — 
*' Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth — the  dumb  our  ducies  teach — 
And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech, 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 

To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  are  given 

A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven  ; 

To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  belongs 

The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs  ; 

The  choice,  'twixt  death  or  freedom  warms^ 

Our  breasts  as  theirs — To  arms,  to  arms  !" 

To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 

And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear. 

And,  hke  a  bannered  host  afar, 

Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war. 

Already  scattered  o'er  the  plain, 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain. 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain. 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay  : — 
But  when  they  marked  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshalled  foe. 

The  boldest  broke  aiTay. 
O  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due  !  * 

*  Edward  II.  according  to  the  best  authorities,  showed,  in  the  fatal  fit.  Id 
of  Bannockburu,  personal  gallantry,  not  unw  orthy  of  his  great  sire  and 
ereater  son.  He  remained  on  the  field  till  forced  away  by  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, when  all  was  lost.  He  then  rode  to  the  castle  of  StirJing,  and  de- 
manded admittance ;  but  the  governor  remonstrating  upon  the  imprudence 
of  shutting  himself  up  in  that  fortress,  which  must  so  soon  surrender,  he 
assembled  around  his  person  live  hundred  men-at-arms,  and,  avoiding  the 
Aeld  of  battle  and  the  victorious  army,  fled  towards  Linlithgow,  pursued 
hy  DoHglas  >mh  about  sixty  horse.  They  were  augniented  by  Sir  Lawrence 


SCOTT — VOL.    V 


157 


111  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

His  person  'mid  the  spears, 
Cried  "Fight !"  to  terror  and  despair. 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair, 

And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears  ; 
Till  Pembroke  turned  his  bridle  rein. 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gained  the  summit  of  the  hill> 

But  quitted  there  the  train  : 
"  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, — 
I  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft  ,• 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  Liege,  for  on  your  trac^ 
The  fier}'  Douglas  takes  the  chase, 

I  know  his  banner  well. 
God  send  my  Sovereign  joy  and  bhss, 
And  many  a  happier  field  than  this  !— 

Once  more,  my  liege,  farewell." — 

Again  he  faced  the  battle-field, — 

Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield. 

"Now  then,"  he  said,  and  couched  his  spear, 

Abernethy  with  twenty  more,  whom  Doujj^las  met  in  the  Torwood  upom 
their  way  to  join  the  English  army,  and  whom  he  easily  persuaded  to  de- 
sert the  defeated  monarch,  and  to  assist  in  the  pursuit.  They  hung  upon 
Edward's'fiight  as  far  as  Dunhar,  too  few  in  number  to  assail  him  with  ef- 
fect, but  euough  to  harass  his  retreat  so  constantly,  that  whoever  fell  an 
instant  behind,  was  instantly  slain,  or  made  prisoner.  Edward's  ignomi- 
nious flight  teriijinated  at  Dunbar,  where  the  Earl  of  March,  who  still  pro' 
fessed  aJlegiauce  to  him,  "I'eceived  him  full  gently."  From  thence,  the 
monarch  of  so  great  an  empire,  and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and 
nnmerous  an  army,  escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing  vessel. 


158  SCOTT — VOL.   V. 

**  My  course  is  run,  the  g-oal  is  near  . 
One  efFort  more,  one  brave  career. 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine.'' 
Then  in  his  stirrup  rising-  high, 
He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry, 

"  Saint  James  for  Argentine  '"* 
And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 
The  gallant  knight  from  saddle  bore  ; 
But  not  unharmed — a  lance's  point 
Has  found  his  breast-plate's  loosened  joint.. 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest ; 
Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord, 
"Who  pressed  the  chase  with  gory  sword. 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest, 
And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored. 

And  through  liis  gallant  breast. 
Nailed  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 
Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear. 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round  ! 
— StiiTup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way. 
Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway. 

The  blood  gushed  from  the  wound  ; 
And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 

Hath  turned  him  on  the  ground. 
And  laughed  in  death-pang,  that  his  bladt 
The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

Now  toiled  The  Bmce,  the  battle  done. 
To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won  ; 


SCOTT— VOL.   V-  159 

And  g'ave  command  for  liorse  and  spear 
To  press  the  Southern's  scattered  rear, 
Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
— When  the  war-cry  of  Arg-entine 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear  ! 
*•  Save,  save  his  life,"  he  cried,   "  O  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave  !" — 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave. 

The  wounded  knight  di-ew  near. 
He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more. 
Helm,  cuish,  and  breast-plate  streamed  with  gore. 
Yet,  as  he  saw  the  King  advance, 
He  strove  e*en  then  to  couch  his  lance — 

The  effort  was  in  vain  ! 
The  spur-stroke  failed  to  rouse  the  horse  ; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 
To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose  : — 

"  Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine  ! 
My  Sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate. 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late  : 

Yet  this  may  Argentine, 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave — 
A  Christian's  mase,  a  soldier's  grave." — 

JBruce  pressed  his  dying  hand — its  grasp 
Kindly  rcphed ;  but,  in  his  clasp. 
It  stiffened  and  grew  cold — 


160  SCOTT — TOL.  V. 

And,  **0  farewell !"  the  victor  cried, 
**  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride. 

The  arm  in  battle  bold, 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 
The  stainless  faith,  tlie  manly  face  ! — • 
Bid  Ninian's  convent  hg-ht  their  shrine. 
For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine. 
O'er  better  knight  on  death -bier  laid. 
Torch  never  g-leamed  nor  mass  was  said  !" — 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone. 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone. 

And  rose  the  death -prayer's  awful  tone. 

That  yellow  lustre  ghmmercd  pale. 

On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail. 

Rent  crest  and  shattered  coronet. 

Of  Baron,  Earl,  and  Banneret ; 

And  the  best  names  that  England  knew, 

Claiifted  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due. 

Yet  mourn  not.  Land  of  Fame  ! 
Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 
Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field. 

Since  Norman  WiUiam  came. 
Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 
Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost  ; 

Grudge  not  her  victory. 
When  for  iier  freeborn  rights  slie  strove  ; 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love, 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee  ! 


seOTT — VOL.  T.  161 


PITT    AND    FOX. 


With  more  than  mortal  powers  endowed, 
How  hig-h  they  soared  above  the  crowd  ! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race, 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place  ; 
Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar  ; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand 
Looked  up  the  nobles  of  the  land. 
Till  through  tlie  British  world  were  known 
The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 
E'er  framed  in  dark  Thes^alian  cave. 
Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 
And  force  the  planets  from  the  sky. 
These  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these. 
The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 
Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 
For  ever  tombed  beneath  the  stone. 
Where, — taming  thought  to  human  pride  ! — 
The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side. 
Drop  upon  Fox's  grave  the  tear, 
'Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier ; 
O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 
And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 
The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, 
"  Here  let  their  discord  vidth  tliem  die  .; 
02 


162  SCOTT VOL.   V. 

Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 
Whom  fate  made  brothers  in  the  tomb, 
But  search  the  land  of  hving  men. 
Where  wilt  thou  find  their  like  agen  ?" 


CHRISTMAS. 

Heap  on  more  wood  ! — ^the  wind  is  cliill. 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will. 

We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  still. 

Each  age  has  deemed  the  new-born  year 

Fit  time  for  festival  and  cheer  : 

E*en  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 

At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  di-ain. 

High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew. 

And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew  ; 

Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall, 

Where  shields  and  axes  decked  the  wall. 

They  gorged  upon  the  half-dressed  steer  ; 

Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer  ; 

While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 

The  half-gnawed  rib,  and  marrow-bone  ; 

Or  listened  all,  in  grim  delight, 

While  scalds  yelled  out  the  joys  of  fight. 

Then  forth,  in  frenzy,  would  they  hie. 

And  wildly  loose  their  red  locks  fly  ; 

And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile. 

They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 


hCOTT VOL.   V. 


163 


As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 
The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall. 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 
Xoved  when  the  year  its  course  had  rolled, 
And  broug-ht  blithe  Christmas  back  again. 
With  all  his  hospitable  train. 
Domestic  and  religious  rite. 
Gave  honour  to  the  holy  night ; 
On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung  ; 
On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung  ; 
That  only  night,  in  aU  the  year. 
Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear. 
The  damsel  donned  her  kirtle  sheen  : 
The  hall  was  dressed  in  holly  green  ; 
Forth  to  the  wood  did  meiry-men  go, 
To  gather  in  the  misletoe, 
Then  opened  wide  the  baron's  hall 
To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all ; 
Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 
And  Ceremony  doffed  his  pride. 
The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes. 
That  night  might  village  paitner  choose  j 
The  lord,  underogating,  share 
The  vulgar  game  of  **  post  and  pair." 
All  hailed,  with  uncontrouled  delight. 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night. 
That  to  the  cottage  as  tlie  crown. 
Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied.. 


164  SCOTT — VOL.  T. 

Went  roaring-  up  the  chimney  wide  ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 
,        Scrubbed  till  it  shone  the  day  to  grace, 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  tlie  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old  blue-coated  serving-man  ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's-head  frowned  on  lilgh. 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
AVell  can  the  green-garbed  ranger  tell, 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore, 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar  ; 
W' hile  round  the  meriy  wussel  bowl, 
Garnished  with  ribbons,  blithe  did  trowl. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reeked  ;  hard  by 
Plumb-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie  ; 
Nor  failed  old  Scotland  to  produce. 
At  such  high-tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  meriy  masquers  in, 
And  carols  roared  with  blitliesome  diu  ■ 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song. 
It  was  a  heaily  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  set 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ; 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made ; 
But,  O  !  what  masquers  richly  dight 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light ! 


&OOTT VOL.   V.  163 

Eiig-land  was  meriy  England,  when 

Old  Chi'istmas  brought  his  sports  again. 

'Twas  Christmas  broached  the  mightiest  ale  ; 

^Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale  ; 

A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 

The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger  in  our  northern  clime 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time  ; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here. 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear. 
E'en  when  perchance  its  far-fetched  claim 
To  Soutliron  ear  sounds  empty  name  5 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream.* 
And  thus,  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-gi-andsire  came  of  old  ; 
With  flaxen  beai'd,  and  amber  hair. 
And  reverend  apostolic  air — 
The  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share, 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine. 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine. 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 
E'er  to  be  hitched  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast. 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost ; 
The  banished  race  of  Kings  revered, 
And  lost  his  land, — but  kept  his  beard, 

*  "  Blood  is  wanner  than  water,'"— a  proverl)  mtant  to  vindicate  out- 
family  predilections. 


166  SCOTT — VOL.   r 


WILFRID    WYCIIFFE 

A  FOND  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centered  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  frohc  mood 
Showed  the  elastic  spring-  of  blood  ; 
Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore, 
But  turned  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 
From  FalstafF's  feast  and  Percy's  fight. 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain. 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain  ; 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

In  youth,  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound. 
But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake  ; 
In  Deepdale's  sohtude  to  lie. 
Where  all  is  cliff,  and  copse,  and  sky  : 
To  cUmb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek. 
Such  was  his  wont ;  and.  there  his  dream 
Soared  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme. 
Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  Spring, 
Till  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain. 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 


SCOTT VOL.    V.  16? 


He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell. 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell ; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caug-ht 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved — liis  soul  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame  ^ 
Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,  friendship  in  his  phrase. 


Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love. 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  wo  and  ills  to  come, 
■Wliile  still  he  turned  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intinsive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued. 
In  all  but  this,  unmoved  he  viewed 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good  : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild. 
Was  Fancy's  spoiled  and  wayward  child  \ 
In  her  bright  car  she  bade  him  ride. 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side. 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat. 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat. 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Uer  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread  ; 


t68  iooTT — vol.  y. 

For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow. 

Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 

And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 

From  every  stern  reality, 

Till,  to  the  Visionary,  seem 

ller  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 


BEAUTIES  OF  MOORE 


THE 

BEAUTISS 


THOMAS  MOORE  ESQ 


Who  is  he,  tliat  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink. 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazzhng*  hght 

The  eyes  of  Ykmen*s  warriors  wink  ' 
Who  comes  embower'd  in  the  spears 
Of  Kerman's  hardy  mountaineers  ? — 
Those  mountaineers,  that  truest,  last. 

Cling-  to  their  country's  ancient  rites, 
As  if  that  God  whose  eye-lids  cast 

Their  closing  gleams  on  Irak's  heiglits, 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too  ! 


172  MooaE — VOL.  I. 

'Tis  Hafed — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 

Chills  hke  the  muttering'  of  a  charm  ; — > 
Shout  but  that  awful  name  around, 

And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 
^Tis  Hafed,  most  accurst  and  dire 
(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire) 
Of  all  the  rebel  Sons  of  Fire  ! 
Of  whose  malign  tremendous  power 
The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour, 
Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell, 
That  each  affrighted  sentinel 
Pulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes. 
Lest  Hafed  in  the  midst  should  rise  ! 
A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 
A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth. 
Sprung  from  these  old,  enchanted  kings,^ 

Who  in  their  fairy  helms  of  yore, 
A  feather  from  the  mystic  wings 

Of  the  Simoorgh  resistless  wore  ; 
And  gifted  by  the  Fiends  of  Fire, 
Who  groan  to  see  their  shrines  expii-e, 
Witli  charms  that,  all  in  vain  withstood 
W^ould  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood  ! 

Such  were  the  tales  that  won  behef, 
And  such  the  colouring  Fancy  gave 

*  Tahniuras,  and  other  ancient  kings  of  Persia,  whose  adventures  in 
Fairy-Land  among  the  Peris  and  Dives  may  be  found  in  Richardson's 
curious  Dissertation.  The  griffin  Simoorgh,  they  say,  took  some  feathers 
from  her  breast  for  Tahmuras,  w  ith  which  he  adorned  his  helmet,  and 
transmitted  them  afterwards  to  his  descendants. 


MOORE — VOL.    I.  I/O 

To  a  young-,  warm  and  (^untless  Chief,— 

One  who,  no  more  than  mortal  brave. 
Fought  for  the  land  his  soul  ador'd. 

For  happy  homes,  and  altars  free, — 
His  only  talisman,  the  sword. 

His  only  spell-word  Liberty  ! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line, 
Along-  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names  tliat  have  sanctified  their  blood, 
As  Lebanon's  small  mountain-flood 
Is  render'd  holy  by  the  ranks 
Of  sainted  cedai-s  on  its  banks  !  * 
'Twas  not  for  liim  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny, — 
'Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past. 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead. 
Though  fram'd  for  Iran's  happiest  years^ 
Was  born  among  her  chains  and  tears  ! 
'Twas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  lieads,  that  shrinking  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  pass'd. 
Like  shmbs  beneath  the  poison  blast — 
No — far  he  fled — indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame  ; 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

*  This  rivulet,  says  Dandini,  is  called  the  Holy  River  from  the  "  cedav- 
;aints,"  among  which  it  rises. 

P  2 


174  MooEE — vol..  r. 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame  ; 
And  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smile,  so  welcomed  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 

For  vengeance  and  for  liberty  ! 


THE    HABEM. 

Through  vast  illuminated  halls. 
Silent  and  brig-ht,  M^here  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount  is  heard  around, 
Young  AziM  roams  bewilder'd, — nor  can  guess 
What  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
Here  the  way  leads,  o'er  tesselated  floors 
Or  mats  of  Cairo,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  ranged  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns. 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns  ;  •> 

And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  bowers  of  Tibet,*  send  forth  odorous  light. 
Like  Peri's  wands,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode  ! — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  saloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon  ^ 
Where,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 

*  "  Cloves  are  a  principal  ingredient  in  the  composition  of  the  perfum- 
rd  rods,  which  men  of  rank  keep  constantly  burniiig  in  their  presence." 
—Turner's  Tibet. 


MOORE VOL.    I.  175 

High  as  th'  enamell'd  cupola,  w  hich  towers 
All  rich  with  Arabesques  of  gold  and  flowers  ; 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  shines  through  ♦ 
The  sprinkling  of  that  fountain's  silvery  dew. 
Like  the  wet,  glistening  shells,  of  every  dye, 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  Sea  he. 

Here  too  he  traces  the  kind  visitings 

Of  woman's  love  in  those  fair,  hving  things 

Of  land  and  wave,  whose  fate, — In  bondage  thrown 

For  their  weak  loveliness — is  like  her  own  ! 

On  one  side  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 

Through  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 

In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  shine. 

Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine  ; 

While,  on  the  other,  lattic'd  lightly  in 

With  odoriferous  woods  of  Camorin,* 

Each  brilliant  bird  that  wings  the  air  is  seen  ; — 

Gay,  sparkling  loories,  such  as  gleam  between 

The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  ti'eef 

In  the  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea  : 

Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon,  t  and  tlie  thrush 

Of  Indostan,§  whose  holy  warbhngs  gush. 

At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top  ; — 

*  C'est  d'oii  vient  le  bois  d'aloes,  que  les  Arabes  appellent  Oud  Comarij 
et  celui  du  sandal,  qui  s'y  trouve  en  grande  quantile.— D'/fer6do«. 

t  "  Thousands  of  variegated  loories  visit  the  coral  trees."— Borrow, 
t"  lu  Mecca,  there  are  quantities  of  blue  pigeons,  which  none  will  af- 
fright or  abuse,  much  less  k.ilV'—Fitfi-  Account  of  the  Mahometans^ 

§  "  The  Paeoda  Thrush  is  t  stcenied  among  the  first  choristers  of  India. 
It  sits  perched  on  the  sacred  Pagodas,  aad  from  thence  delivers  its  nielo ' 
dious  song.''— PenTwnf'*  Hindoetan, 


176  .hooue — Toi.   i. 

Those  golden  birds  that,  in  the  spice  time,  drop 
About  the  gardens,  drank  with  that  sweet  food 
"Whose  scent  hath  hir'd  them  o'er  the  summer  flood  C 
And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  sun 
Build  their  high  nests  of  budding  cinnamon  ;f 
In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  things  that  fly 
Tlu'ough  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  he 
Sleeping  in  hght,  like  the  green  birds^:  that  dwell 
In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel  ! 

So  on  through  scenes  past  all  imagining, — 
More  hke  the  luxuries  of  that  impious  king,  § 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  hghtning  torch, 
Struck  down  and  blasted  even  in  Pleasure's  porch. 
Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Ann'd  with  Heaven's  sword,  for  man's  enfranchisement — 
Young  AziJi  wander'd,  looking  sternly  round. 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound, 
But  ill  according  with  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place  ! 

"Is  this  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "  is  this  the  way 
To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  deadening  sway 

*  Birds  of  Paradise,  which,  at  the  nutmeg  season,  come  in  flights  from 
the  soulbtru  isks  of  India,  and  "  the  strength  of  the  nutmeg,''  sa\s  Ta- 
vernier,  **  so  intoxicates  them,  that  they  fall  dead  drunk  to  the  earth." 

+  "  Ihat  bird  which  liveth  in  Arabia,  and  buildeth  its  nest  with  cinjia- 
m(.n.''~Brou'7i's  Vulgar  Errors. 

\  "  The  spirits  of  the  martyrs  ^\  ill  he  lodged  in  the  crops  of  green 
bjids/' — Giol/on.  voi.  ix.  p.  421. 

§  Shedad,  who  made  the  delicious  gardens  of  Irim,  in  imitation  of  Pa- 
radise, and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  the  first  time  he  attempted  to  en- 
ter them. 


T.IOOHE-rVOI..    I.  17-7 

Of  worldly  sloth  ; — to  teach  him,  while  he  lives. 

To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives, 

And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lofty  name 

A  lig-ht,  a  land-mark  on  the  cliffs  of  fame  "' 

It  was  not  so,  land  of  the  g-cnerous  thought 

And  daring  deed !  tliy  godlike  sages  taught  ; 

It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  case, 

Thy  freedom  nurs'd  her  sacred  energies  ; 

Oh  !  not  beneath  th'  enfeebling,  withering  glow 

Of  such  dull  luxury  did  those  myrtles  grow. 

With  which  she  wreath'd  her  sword,  when  she  would  darc 

Immortal  deeds  ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 

Of  toil, — of  temperance, — of  that  high,  rai'e. 

Ethereal  vu'tue,  wiiich  alone  can  breathe 

Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreath  ! 

Who,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  we  press. 

This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness. 

This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas. 

The  past,  the  future,  two  eternities  ! 

Would  sully  the  bright  spot  or  leave  it  bare, 

When  he  might  build  him  a  proud  temple  there, 

A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  its  space, 

And  be  each  purer  soul's  high  resting-place  ! 

But  no — it  cannot  be,  that  one,  whom  God 

Has  sent  to  break  the  wizard  Falsehood's  rod, — 

A  Prophet  of  the  truth,  whose  mission  draws 

Its  rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  his  cause 

With  the  world's  vulgar  pomps  ; — no,  no — I 

He  thinks  me  weak — this  glare  of  luxury 


178  :viooBE — VOL.  r. 

Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  g-aze 

Of  my  young- soul ; — shine  on,  'twill  stand  the  blaze  !" 

So  thought  the  youth  ; — but,  ev'n  M-hile  he  defied 
The  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witchery  glide 
Through  every  sense.     The  perfume,  breathing  round, 
Like  a  pervading  s])irit ; — the  still  sound 
Of  falling  waters,  lulling  as  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  Nilica,  and  deep 
In  its  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep  !* 
And  music  too — dear  music  !  that  can  touch 
Beyond  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much — 
Now  heard  far  off,  so  far  as  but  to  seem — 
Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream  ; — 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss. 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this  ; 
Soften'd  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laid ; — 
He  thought  of  Zelica,  his  own  dear  maid, 
And  of  the  time  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes. 
Silent  and  happy — as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heaven  : 

**  O  my  lov'd  mistress  !  whose  enchantments  stiU 
Are  with  me,  round  me,  wander  where  I  will — 

*  "]My  Pandits  assure  me  that  the  plant  before  us  (the  Xilica)  is  their 
Sephalica,  thus  named  because  the  bees  are  supposed  to  sleep  ou  its  blos- 
soms."— Sir  iV,  Jones, 


MOORE — VOL.    I.  179 

It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 

The  paths  of  glory — to  light  up  thy  cheek 

With  warm  approval — in  that  gentle  look. 

To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel*s  book. 

And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 

I  gain  a  smile,  worth  immortality  ! 

How  shall  I  bear  the  moment,  when  restor'd 

To  that  young  heart  where  1  alone  am  Lord, 

Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy, — since  the  best 

Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest  ! — 

When  from  those  lips,  unbreath'd  upon  for  years, 

I  shall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears. 

And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  they  started. 

Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted  ! 

Oh  my  own  life  ! — why  should  a  single  day, 

A  moment  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  >"* 

While  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delicious,  dream-like  harmonies, 
Each  note  of  which  but  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
He  turns  him  tow'rd  the  sound,  and,  far  away 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Of  countless  lamps, — like  the  rich  track  which  Da}- 
Leaves  on  the  waters,  when  he  sinks  from  us  ; 
So  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous  ; — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  fonns  advance. 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers. 


180  MOORE— VOL.    1. 

As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers  ;— 
And  some  disporting  round,  unlink'd  and  free. 
Who  seem'd  to  mock  their  sisters'  slavery. 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling  flight 
Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night  5 
While  others  walk'd  as  gracefully  along 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  veiy  soul  of  song 
From  psaltry,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrili, 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still  ! 
And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye, 
Forms  such  as  Natm-e  moulds,  when  she  would  vie 
With  Fancy's  pencil  and  give  birth  to  things 
Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturings  ! 
Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide. 
Breaking,  hke  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 
Around  the  rich  pavilion  of  the  sun, 
Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one. 
Through  many  a  path  that  from  the  chamber  lead.- 
To  gardens,  terraces,  and  moonlight  meads. 
Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind. 
And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind, 
Beck'ning  them  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone. 
And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone  ; 
No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow. 
In  Its  young  bashfulness  more  beauteous  now  : 
But  a  light,  golden  chain-work  round  her  hair. 
Such  as  the  maids  of  Yezd  and  Shiraz  wear. 
From  which,  on  either  side,  gracefully  hung 
A  golden  amulet,  in  tli'  Ai-ab  tongue. 


MOORE— VOL,    I.  181 

EngTa\  en  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 

From  holy  writ,  or  bai*d  scarce  less  divine  ; 

While  her  left  hand,  as  shrinkingly  she  stood, 

Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal-wood, 

Which  once  or  twice,  she  touch'd  with  hurried  strain, 

Then  took  her  trembling-  fingers  off  again. 

But  when  at  length  a  timid  glance  she  stole 

At  AziM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 

She  saw  through  all  liis  features  calm'd  her  fear, 

And,  like  a  half-tamed  antelope,  more  near. 

Though  shrinking  still,  she  came  ;— then  sat  her  down 

Upon  a  musnud's*  edge,  and,  bolder  grown, 

In  the  pathetic  mode  of  IsFAiiAxf 

Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began  : 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  BENDEMEEH'st  stream, 

And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day  long  ; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twas  like  a  sweet  dream. 

To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 
That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget, 

But  oft,  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 
I  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet  ? 

Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Bendemxer  ? 
No,  the  roses  soon  wither'd  that  hung  o'er  the  wave 

But  some  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshly  they  shone, 

*  Musuuds  are  cushioned  seats,  usually  reserved  for  persons  ef  dis- 
tinction. 

t  The  Persians,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their  musical  modes  or 
Perdas  by  the  names  of  different  countries  or  cities,  as  the  mode  of  Isfa- 
han, the  mode  of  Irak,  etc. 

t  A  riyer  which  flows  near  th«  ruins  wf  Chjlriijnar. 

Q 


182  MOORE VOL,    I. 

And  a  dew  was  distill'd  from  their  flowers,  tliat  ^avt 
All  the  frag-iance  of  summer,  when  summer  was  gone 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delig-ht,  ere  it  dies. 
An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year  ; 

Thus  brig-ht  to  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes, 
Is  that  bower  on  the  bank  of  the  cahn  Bk^jdemeer  ! 

**Poor  maiden  !  "  thoug-ht  the  youth,  *<if  thou  wert  sent. 

With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment. 

To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart, 

Or  tempt  its  truth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 

For  though  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel  wrong, 

Those  vestal  eyes  would  disavow  its  song. 

But  thou  hast  breathed  such  purity,  thy  lay 

Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  day. 

And  leads  thy  sou! — if  e'er  it  wander'd  thence— 

So  gently  back  to  its  first  innocence, 

That  I  would  sooner  stop  th'  unchained  dove, 

When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love. 

And  round  its  snowy  wing  new  fetters  twine. 

Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine  !" 

Scarce  had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling  through 
The  gently  open'd  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'd  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyes 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue  evening  skies: 
•Look'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 


iMoonE — VOL.  I.  183 

Which  those  without  fling-  after  them  in  jilay, 

Two  lip^htsome  maidens  spring-,  lig-htsome  as  they 

Who  live  in  th'  air  on  odours,  and  around 

The  brig-ht  saloon,  scarce  conscious  of  chc  ground. 

Chase  one  another  in  a  vaiying-  dunce 

Of  mnth  and  lang-uor,  coyness  and  advance, 

I'oo  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursiiit  : — 

While  she,  wlio  sung  so  g-ently  to  the  lute 

Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away, 

Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray, — 

But  takes  with  her  from  Azim's  heart  that  sigh 

We  sometimes  give  to  forms  that  pas5  us  by 

In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain, 

Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again  ! 


NAMOrNA,    THE    E^^'CHANTRESS. 

O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sun 
For  unremember'd  years  has  ran. 
Yet  never  saw  her  bloomiiig  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 
Nay,  rather,  as  the  west-wind's  sigh, 
Freshens  the  fiosver  It  passes  by, 
Time's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  o'er, 
To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  her  saiiles  a  sadness  hung. 
And  when,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  sung 


184  MOORE — rot.  I. 

Of  other  worlds,  there  came  a  lig-ht 
From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright. 
That  all  believ'd  nor  man  nor  earth 
Were  conscious  of  Namouna's  birth  ! 
All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew, 

From  the  great  .Mantra,*  which  around  • 

The  Air's  sublimer  Spirits  drew. 

To  the  gold  gemsf  of  Afbic. — 

it  *  #  *  tr 

in  short,  all  flowrets  and  all  plants, 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,^ 
That  blesses  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to  the  basil  tuft,  that  waves 

Its  fragrant  blossoms  over  graves. 

And  to  the  humble  rosemary 
Whose  sw^eets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desert.  § — 

'Twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 
From  flowers  and  scented  flame  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life — for  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 

*  "  He  is  said  to  have  found  the  great  ^Vanfra,  spell  or  talisman,  through 
which  he  ruled  over  the  elements  and  spirits  of  all  denominations."— /H/- 
ford. 

t  "  The  ^old  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  by  the  Arabs  El  Herrez, 
from  the  supposed  charm  the}-  contain.'"~yac/Mo;!.' 

t  This  name  is  applied  by  the  Asiatics  to  the  largest  and  richest  sort  of 
the  Jurabu  or  rose  apple  tree.— 5V;\  tV.  Jones. 

§  In  the  great  desert  are  found  many  stalks  of  lavender  and  rosemary. 
Asiat.  Res. 


.MOORE VOJ..    ].  185 


Xor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip, 

Uut  the  morns'  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 


PAIIADISE    AND     THE    PEBI. 

One  morn  a  Peri  at  the  g-ate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  springs 

Of  life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
Had  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half-open  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place  ' 

*'  How  happy,"  exclaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
**  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there. 

Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall  : 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
And  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me. 

One  blossom  of  Heaven  out-blooms  them  all  ! 

Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool  Cashmere, 
With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clear,* 

And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  Valley  fall  ^ 
Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  Sing-su-hat, 
And  the  golden  floods,  that  thitherward  stray,f 

*  "  Numerous  small  islands  emerge  from  the  Lake  of  Cashmere.  One  is 
called  Char  Chtnaur,  from  the  plane  trees  upon  it,"— Forster. 

t"The  Altan  Kol,  or  Golden  River  of  Tibet,  which  runs  into  the 
Lake  of  Sing-su-hay,  has  abundance  of  goid  in  its  sands,  which  employs 
the  inhabitants  ali  summer  in  gathering  iV^— Description  of  Tibet  in 
Pinkerton, 

Q2 


186  MOOHE — TOL.    I. 

Yet — oh  'tis  only  the  blest  can  say 

How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  all 

Go  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star. 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall  5 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres. 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years. 

One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all  !** 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping  ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  hsten*d 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glisten'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 

From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 
On  the  blue  flow'r,  which — Bramins  say — 

Blooms  no  where  but  in  Paradise  ! 
"Nymph  of  a  fair,  but  erring  line  !" 
Gently  he  said — "  One  hope  is  thine. 

Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 
The  Peri  yet  may  be  forgiven 
Who  brings  to  this  Eternal  Gate 
T%e  Gift  that  is  most  dear  to  Heaven  / 
Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin  : — 
'Tis  sweet  to  let  the  Pardon'd  in  !" 

Rapidly  as  comets  run 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  Sun  : — 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands, 


MOORE — TOL.    I.  18/ 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands* 
At  those  dark  and  daring  sprites, 
Who  would  climb  th*  empyreal  heights, 
Down  the  blue  vault  the  Peri  flies. 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 
That  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Hung  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

To  find  this  gift  for  heav'n  ? — "I  know 

The  wealth,"  she  cries,  "of  every  urn, 

In  which  unnumber'd  rubies  burn. 

Beneath  the  pillars  of  Ckilmibar  ;t — 

I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are 

Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea, 

To  the  south  of  sun-bright  Arabx  ;t — 

I  know  too  where  the  Genii  hid 

The  jewell'd  cup  of  their  King  Jamshid,§ 

With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high — 

But  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 

Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 

Like  the  steps  of  Alla's  wonderful  Throne  ? 

*  "  The  Mahometans  suppose  that  falling  stars  are  the  fire-brands 
V,  herewith  the  good  angels  drive  away  the  bad,  when  they  approach  too 
near  the  empyreuni  or  verge  of  the  Heavens."— f/f/er. 

t  The  Forty  Pillars :  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins  of  Persepolis.  It  is 
imagined  by  them  that  this  palace  and  the  edifices  at  Balbec  were  built 
by  Genii,  for  the  purpose  of  hiding  in  their  subterraneous  caverns  im- 
mense treasures,  which  still  remain  theve.—D''Herbelot,  Volney, 

X  The  Isles  of  Panchaia. 

§  "  The  cup  of  Jamshid,  discovered,  they  say,  when  digging  for  the 
foundations  of  Persepolis."— i?icAarrfjo«. 


188  MOORE — yoi.  1. 

And  the  Drops  of  Life — oh  !  what  would  tbey  be 
In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity  ?'* 

While  thus  she  mus'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land, 
Whose  air  is  balm  ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks  and  amber  beds  ; 
Whose  mountains,  preg-nant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  with  diamonds  teem  ; 
Whose  ri\'ulets  are  like  rich  brides, 
Lovely,  with  g-old  beneath  their  tides  ; 
Whose  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of  spice 
Mig-ht  be  a  Peri's  Paradise  ! 
But  crimson  now  her  rivers  ran 

With  human  blood — the  smell  of  death 
Came  reeking-  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  many,  the  sacrifice  of  man. 

Mingled  his  taint  with  every  breath 
Upwafted  from  the  innocent  flowers  ! 
Land  of  the  Sun  !  what  foot  invades 
Thy  Pagods  and  thy  pillar'd  shades — 
Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  Idol  stones. 
Thy  Monarchs  and  their  thousand  Thrones  ' 
'Tis  He  of  Gazna  !* — fierce  in  wTath 

He  comes,  and  I^jdia's  diadems 
Lie  scatter'd  in  his  ruinous  path. — 

His  blood-hounds  he  adorns  wdth  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

*  Mahmood  of  Gazna,  or  Ghizni,  who  conquered  India  in  the  begin- 
aiog  of  the  nth  century.— v.  lus  History  in  Dow  and  Sir  J.  Malcolm. 


Of  many  a  young-  and  lov'd  Sultana  \*  — 
Maidens  within  their  pure  Zenana, 
Priests  in  the  very  fane  he  slaug-hters. 
And  choaks  up  with  the  glittenng  wrecks 
Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters  ! 

Downward  the  Peri  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  haze 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand. 

Alone,  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand 

And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  **  live  to  share 
The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear  ! " 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood — 
Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 
All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood. 
Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart. 
For  answer  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 
False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well  -, 
The  Tyrant  livM,  the  Hero  fell  !— 
Yet  mark*d  the  Peri  where  he  lay. 

And  when  the  rush  of  war  was  past, 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last —  ' 

Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed, 
Before  its  free-born  spirit  fled  ! 

*  It  is  reported  that  the  hunting  equipage  of  the  Sultan  ^fahmood  was 
so  magnificent,  that  he  kept  four  hundred  grey-hounds  and  blood-houndfc, 
each  of  which  wore  a  coiiar  set  with  jewels,  and  a  covering  edged  vritK 
gold  and  pcurls.^'—Univeisal  Histonjy  vol.  iij. 


190  MOOBE — VOL.    I. 

"  Be  this,*'  she  cried,  as  she  win^d  her  flight, 
My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. 
Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 

On  the  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this. 

For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is. 
It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill. 

That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss  ! 
Oh  !  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
#       A  boon,  an  offering  Heaven  holds  dear, 
"Tis  the  last  libation  [iberty  draws 
From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  m  hef  cause  !*' 

"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
"  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

Who  die  thus  for  their  native  Land. — 
But  see — alas  ! — the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 
Than  ev'n  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
That  opens  the  Gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee  !  " 

Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  bhghted, 
Now  among  Afric's  Lunar  Mountains,* 

Far  to  the  South,  the  Peri  lighted  ; 

And  sleek'd  her  plumage  at  the  fountains 

Of  that  Egyptian  tide, — whose  birth 

Is  hidden  from  tlie  sons  of  earth, 

Deep  in  those  solitary  woods. 

Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 

*  "  The  Mowntains  of  the  Moon,  or  the  Montes  Lunfe  of  antiquitj'.  at 
ihe  foot  of  which  the  Nile  is  supposed  to  arise."— £rute 


MOORE VOL.    I  191 

Dunce  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
And  hail  the  new-born  Giant's  smile  !* 
Thence,  over  Egypt's  palmy  groves. 

Her  grots,  and  sepulchres  of  Kingsf 
The  exil'd  Spirit  sighing  roves  ; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
In  warm  Rosktta's  vale^^ — now  loves 

To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wings 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  azure  calm  of  Mcebis'  Lake.§ 
'Twas  a  fair  scene — a  Land  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  behold  ! 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  saw  this  night 

These  valleys  and  their  fruits  of  gold 
Basking  in  heav'n's  serenesL  light ; — 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date-trees  bending 

Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads. 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep  descending 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  ;|1 — 
'I'hose  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

Bathing  their  beHiities  in  the  lake. 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

*  "  The  Nile,  vhichthe  Abyssinian?;  know  by  the  names  of  Abey  and 
Alaway  or  the  Giant."    Aaiaf.  Researches  vol.  i.  p.  387. 

t  V.  Perry's  View  of  the  Levant,  for  an  account  of  the  sepulchres  in  Up- 
per 'Ihebts,  and  the  numberless  e^rots  covered  all  over  with  hieroglyphics 
in  the  mountains  of  Upper  Egj  pt. 

X  "  The  orchards  of  Rosetta  are  filled  with  turtle-doves."— S'onn/we. 
§  Savary  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  Maris. 
II  "  The  superb  date-tree,  whose  head  languidly  reclines,  like  that  of  a 
Jiandsorae  woman  overcome  with  sleep."— jL><7/ar£/  el  Hadad. 


192  MOORE— VOL.    I. 

When  their  beloved  Sun's  awake  ;— 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  that  seem 
The  rehcs  of  a  splendid  dream  ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Noug-ht  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard. 
Nought  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheath  its  gleam) 
Some  purple-wing'd  Sultana*  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 

And  glittering,  like  an  idol  bird  !— 

Who  could  have  thought,  that  there,  ev'n  there.. 

Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair, 

The  Demon  of  the  Plague  hath  cast 

From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast, 

More  mortal  far  than  ever  came 

From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame  ! 

So  quick,  that  every  living  thing 

Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing. 

Like  plants,  where  the  Simoom  hath  past^ 

At  once  falls  black  and  withering  ! 

% 
The  sun  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then. 
Is  rankling  in  the  pest-house  now 

And  ne'er  will  feel  that  sun  again ! 
And  oh  !  to  sec  th'  unburied  heaps 

*  '•  That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest  shining  blue,  witk 
purple  beak  and  legs,  the  natural  and  living  ornament  of  the  temples  and 
palaces  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  which,  from  the  stateliness  of  its  port, 
as  well  as  the  brilliancy  of  i»s  colours,  ha<i  obtajjied  the  title  of -Rnltana."-^ 
SonninU 


UOOHE — VOL.    1,  19T 

On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleeps— 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  foul  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hyaena  stalks* 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  plies — 

Wo  to  the  half-dead  wretcn,  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes-}-  * 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets ! 

"  Poor  race  of  Men !"  said  the  pitying  Spirit^ 

"  Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  Fall — 
Some  flowrets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit, 

But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them  all  "' 
She  wept — the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Around  her,  as  the  bright  drops  ran ; 
For  there's  a  magic  in  each  tear. 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man  ! 

Just  then  beneath  some  orange  trees, 
Whose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 
Were  wantoning  together,  free, 
Like  age  at  play  with  infancy— 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower. 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 
Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour, 

Had  thither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 

*,Jacksoii,  speaking  of  the  plague  thatoccuiTcd  in  West  Barbary,  when 
he  was  there,  says,  "  The  birds  of  the  air  fled  away  from  the  abodes  of 
tnen.    The  hyaenas,  on  the  coiitrai-y,  visited  the  cemeteries,"  &c. 

t  Bvuce, 

R 


194  MOORE — VOL.    I. 

One  M-ho  in  life,  where'er  he  mov'd. 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many  ; 
Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd, 
Dies  here,  unseen,  unwept  by  any  ! 
None  to  watch  near  him — none  to  slake 

The  fire  that  in  his  bosom  lies. 
With  ev'n  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake, 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 
No  voice,  well-known  through  many  a  day, 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word. 
Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard. 
That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er, 
Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Puts  oW  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

Deserted  youth  !  one  thought  alone 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death — 
That  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  knov  u, 
And  lov'd,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own. 

Was  safe  from  this  foul  midnight's  breath 
Safe  in  her  father's  princely  halls, 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain  falls, 
I'reshly  peifum'd  by  many  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land. 
Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd- 
But  see, — who  yonder  comes  by  stealth, 
This  melancholy  bower  to  seek. 


JIOORE VOL.    J.  1^5 

Like  a  young  envoy  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  g-ifts  upon  her  cheek  ?    • 
"Tis  she, — far  off,  through  moonhght  dim. 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride, 
She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him. 

Than  live  to  gain  the  world  beside  ! — 
Her  arms  are  round  her  lover  now. 

His  hvid  cheek  to  hers  she  presses. 
And  dips,  to  bind  his  burning  brow. 

In  the  cool  lake  her  loosen'd  tresses. 
Ah  !  once,  how  Uttle  did  he  think 
An  hour  would  come,  when  he  should  shrink' 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace, 

Those  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holy  as  is  the  cradling  place 

Of  Eden*s  infant  cherubim  ! 
And  now  he  yields — now  turns  away, 
Shuddering  as  if  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  proffer'd  lips  alone — 
Those  lips  that,  then  so  fearless  grown. 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  his  unask'd  or  without  shame. 
"  Oh  !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air, 

The  blessed  air  that's  breath'd  by  thee. 
And,  whether  on  its  wings  it  bear 
Healing,  or  death,  *tis  sweet  to  me  ! 
There,  drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall, — 

Would  that  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm; 
And,  well  tliou  know'st,  I'd  shed  it  all, 


196  iMOOHE — VOL.    I. 

To  give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face- 
Am  I  not  thine — thy  own  lov'd  bride — 
The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side  ! 
Think'st  thou  that  she,  whose  only  lig'ht. 

In  this  dim  world,  from  thee  hath  shone, 
Could  bear  the  long-,  the  cheerless  night. 

That  must  be  hers,  when  thou  art  gone  f 
That  I  can  live,  and  let  thee  go. 
Who  art  my  life  itself  ? — No,  no, — 
When  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 
Out  of  its  heart  must  perish  too  ! 
Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn. 
Before  like  thee  I  fade  and  burn  ; 
Cling  to  these  yet  cool  lips,  and  shai'e 
The  last  pure  life  that  hngers  there  !'* 
She  fails — she  sinks — as  dies  the  lamp 
In  chamel  airs  or  cavern-damp. 
So  quickly  do  his  baleful  sighs 
Quench  ail  the  sweet  light  of  her  eyes  ! 
One  struggle — and  his  pain  is  past — 

Her  lover  is  no  longer  living  ! 
One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last. 

Long  kiss,  which  she  expires  in  giving  ! 

"  Sleep,"  said  the  Peri,  as  softly  she  stole 
The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  soul. 
As  true  as  e*er  warm'd  a  woman's  breast — 
"  Sleep  on,  in  visions  of  odour  rest, 


.-ifOORE — VOL.    I.  197 

In  bulmiei'  airs  than  ever  yet  stirr'd 
Th*  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 
Who  sings  at  the  last  his  own  death-lay,* 
And  in  music  and  perfume  dies  away  !" 

Thus  saying",  from  her  lips  she  spread 
Unearthly  breathing's  through  the  place. 

And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  and  shed 
Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face, 
That  Uke  two  lovely  saiijjis  they  seem'd 

Upon  the  eve  of  doomsday  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odoui*  sleeping  ; — 

While  that  benevolent  Peri  b^am'd 
Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  them,  till  their  soids  would  waken  ! 
But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky  ; 

Again  the  Piini  soars  above. 
Bearing  to  Heav'n  that  precious  sigh 

Of  pure,  sell-sacrificing  love. 
High  tiu'obb'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elatea 
^   The  Elysian  palm  she  soon  shaU  win, 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gate 

Smil'd  as  she  gave  that  offering  in  ; 
And  she  already  hears  tlie  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crystal  bells 
Ringing  in  that  ambrosial  breeze 

*  "  In  the  East,  they  suppose  the  Phceiiix  to  have  fifty  orifices  in  his  bill, 
which  are  contuuiLcl  to  his  taii ;  and  Uiat,  aftic  .iviuij  oii'  thousand  years, 
he  builds  hims<rif  a  funeral  pile,  sings  a  melodious  air  of  Uiiicitnt  hai-mo- 
nies  through  his  fifty  organ  pipes,  flaps  his  wiugs  v.ith  a  velocity  which 
sets  fire  to  the  wood,  and  consumes  himself."— /J»c/j«r(?*(»«. 

R2 


198  MOOHE TOL.    I. 

That  from  the  Throne  of  Alla  swells  ; 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  lie  around  that  lucid  lake. 
Upon  whose  banks  admitted  Souls 

Their  first  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  !* 
But  ah  !  ev'n  Peri's  hopes  are  vain — 
Again  the  Fates  forbade,  again 
Th'  immortal  barrier  clos'd — *'  not  yet," 
The  Angel  said,  as,  with  regret. 
He  shut  from  her  that  glimpse  of  glory. — 

***** 

Now,  upon  Stria's  land  of  roses-j- 
Softly  the  light  of  Eve  reposes. 
And,  like  a  gloiy,  the  broad  sun 
Hangs  over  sainted  Lebanon  ; 
Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towers. 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet. 
While  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers. 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 

To  one,  who  look'd  from  upper  air 
O'er  all  th*  enchanted  regions  there, 
How  beauteous  must  have  been  the  glow. 
The  life,  the  sparkhng  from  below  ! 

•  "■  On  the  shores  of  a  quadrangular  lake  stand  a  thousand  goblets,  mad<^ 
of  stars,  out  of  which  souls  predestined  to  enjoy  felicity  drink  the  crystal 
wave."— From  Chateaubriand's  Description  of  the  Mahometan  Paradise,  in 
his  Beauties  of  Christianity. 

+  Richardson  thinks  that  S)Tia  had  its  name  from  Suri,  a  beautiful  and 
delicate  species  of  rose  for  which  that  country  has  been  always  famoas  ;— 
hence,  Suristau,  the  Land  of  Roses. 


MOORE — VOL.   r  199 

Fair  gardens,  shining-  streams,  with  ranks 

Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks. 

More  golden  where  the  sun-light  falls  ; — 

Gay  lizards  glittering  on  the  walls* 

Of  ruin*d  shrines,  busy  and  bright 

As  they  were  all  alive  with  light ; — 

And  yet  more  splendid,  numerous  flocks. 

Of  pigeons,  settling  on  the  rocks. 

With  their  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 

Variously  in  the  crimson  beam 

Of  the  warm  west, — as  if  inlaid 

With  brilhants  from  the  mine,  or  made 

Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 

Th'  unclouded  skies  of  Peristal  ? 

And  then,  the  mingling  sounds  that  come. 

Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,f  with  hum 

Of  the  wild  bees  of  Palestine, 

Banquetting  through  the  flowery  vales  ; — 
And,  JoRDAif,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine, 

And  woods,  so  full  of  nightingales  ! 

But  nought  can  charm  the  luckless  Peri  ; 
Her  soul  is  sad — her  wings  are  weary — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  sun  look  down. 
On  that  great  Temple,  once  his  own, }. 

*  "  The  number  of  lizards  I  saw  one  day  in  the  great  court  of  the  Tem- 
ple of  the  Sun  at  Balbec,  amounted  to  many  thousands  ;  the  ground,  the 
walls,  and  stones  of  the  ruined  buildings  were  covtri-'d  with  them."— 5rwce. 

t  The  Syrinx  or  Pan's  pipe,  is  still  a  pastoral  instrument  in  Syria.— 
Russel. 

i  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec. 


200  MOORE VOL.    I. 

Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime, 

Fling-ing-  their  shadows  from  on  hig-h, 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard,  Time, 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by  ! 

Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conceal'd 

Beneath  those  Chambers  of  the  San  -, 
Some  amulet  of  gems  anneal'd 
In  upper  fires,  some  tablet  seal'd 

With  the  great  name  of  Solomon, 

Which,  spell'd  by  her  illumin'd  eyes, 
May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon, 
In  earth  or  ocean  Ues  the  boon. 
The  charm  that  can  restore  so  soon, 

An  erring  Spirit  to  the  skies  ! 

Cheer'd  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither  ; — 
Still  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 
Nor  have  the  golden  bowers  of  Even  * 

In  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither  ; — 

When,  o'er  the  vale  of  Balbec  winging. 
Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  play. 

Among  the  rosy  wild-flowers  singing, 
As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they ; 

Chasing  with  eager  hands  and  eyes, 

The  beautiful  blue  damsel  flies,* 

That  flutter'd  round  the  jasmine  stems, 

*  "  You  behold  there  a  considerable  number  of  a  remarkable  species  of 
beautifui  insects,  the  eltgance  of  whose  appearance  and  their  attire  pro- 
cured for  them  the  name  of  Damsels."— 5o«7u>h. 


MOORE — rot.  I-  201 


Like  wing-ed  flowers  or  flying-  gems  ; — 
And,  near  the  boy,  who,  tir'd  with  play 
Now  nestling-  'mid  the  roses  lay. 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turn'd 

To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat. 
Though  never  yet  hath  day -beam  burn'd  ] 

Upon  a  brow  more  tierce  than  that, — 
Sullenly  fierce — a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire  ! 
In  which  the  Peri's  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ruthless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid — the  shrine  profan'd— 
Oaths  broken — and  the  threshold  stain'd 
With  blood  of  guests  ! — there  written,  all. 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fall 
Prom  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen. 
Ere  Mercy  weeps  them  out  again  ! 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Softened  his  spirit, )  look'd  and  lay, 
Watcliing  the  rosy  infant's  play  : — 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  tlie  boy's,  its  lurid  glance. 
Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze. 


^02  MOORE — VOL.    I. 

As  torches,  that  liave  burnt  all  ni^ht 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 
Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But  hark  !  the  vesper  call  to  prayer. 

As  slow  the  orb  of  day -light  sets, 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air. 

From  Syria's  thousand  minarets  ! 
The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 
Of  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head. 
And  down  upon  a  fragrant  sod 

Kneels  with  his  forehead  to  the  south. 
Lisping  th'  eternal  name  of  God 
From  purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies. 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Pai'adise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain. 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again  ! 
Oh  'twas  a  sight — that  Heaven — that  Child- 
A  scene,  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 
Ev'n  haughty  Eblis  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by  ! 

And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  Man, 
Reclining  there — while  memory'  ran 
O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife. 
Flew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 
Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 
Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace 


MOORt — VOL.   r^  205 

'*  There  was  a  time,"  he  said  in  mild, 
Heart-humbled  tones — *'  thou  blessed  child ! 
When  young  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 
I  look'd  and  pray'd  hke  thee — but  now — " 
He  hung-  his  head — each  nobler  aim 

And  hope  and  feeling,  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him  and  he  wept !  he  wept ! 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow- 
Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  guilt  can  know. 

"There's  a  drop,"  said  the  Peri,  "that  down  from  the 

moon 
Falls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 
Upon  Egypt's  land*  of  so  healing  a  power. 
So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  ev'n  in  the  hour 
That  di'op  descends,  contagion  dies. 
And  health  reanimates  earth  and  skies  ! — 
Oh,  is  it  not  thus,  thou  man  of  sin. 

The  precious  tears  of  repentance  fall  ^ 
Though  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  within. 

One  heavenly  drop  hath  dispell'd  them  all," 

And  now — behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  prayer, 

*  The  Nucta,  or  Miraculous  Drop,  which  falls  in  Eg^npt  precisely  on 
Saint  John's  day,  in  June,  and  is  suj^posed  to  have  the  effect  «»f  stopping: 
the  plague. 


204  Moont — VOL.  r. 

While  the  same  sun-beam  shines  upon 
The  gtiilty  and  the  guiltless  one, 
And  hymns  of  joy  proclaim  through  Heaven 
The  triumph  of  a  Soul  forgiven  ! 

'Twas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set. 
While  on  their  knees  they  linger'd  yet. 
There  fell  a  hght  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star. 
Upon  the  tear,  that  warm  and  meelc, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek  : 
To  mortal  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  northern  tlash,  a  meteor  beam — 
But  well  the  enraptur'd  Peri  knew 
'Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear 
Her  Harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 

"  Joy,  joy  for  ever  !  my  task  is  done — 
The  Gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heaven  is  won  : 
O  !  am  I  not  happy  ?  I  am,  I  am — 

To  thee,  sweet  Eden  !  how  dark  and  sad 
Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  Shabukiam,* 

And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  Ambehabad  ! 
Farewell,  ye  odours  of  Earth,  that  die. 
Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh  ; — 

*  The  Country  of  Delight— the  name  of  a  Province  in  tlie  kingdom  of 
Jinnistan,  or  Fairy  Land,  the  capital  of  which  is  called  the  citv  ol  Jewel*. 
Amberabad  is  another  of  the  cities  of  .Tinnistan. 


MOOEE — VOL.    I.  205 

Sly  toast  is  now  of  the  Tooba  Tree.* 
"VV^hose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  ! 

Farewell  ye  vanishing  flowers,  that  shone 
In  my  fairy  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief, — 

Oh  !  what  are  the  brightest  that  e'er  have  blown. 

To  the  lote-tree,  springing  by  Alla's  Throne,| 
Whose  flowers  have  a  soul  in  every  leaf ! 

Joy,  joy  for  ever  ! — my  task  is  done — 

The  Gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won  !*' 


A    DREAM    OF    ATSTHIVIIJ, 

I  .TiisT  had  tum'dthe  classic  page. 

And  trac'd  that  happy  period  over, 
When  love  could  warm  the  proudest  sage. 

And  wisdom  grape  the  tenderest  lover  ! 
Uefore  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep. 

Upon  the  bank  awhile  I  stood. 
And  saw  the  vestal  planet  weep 

Her  tears  of  light  on  Ariel's  flood. 

My  heart  was  full  of  fancy's  dream, 
And,  as  I  watch'd  the  playful  stream, 

'  The  tree  Tooba  that  stands  in  Paradise,  in  the  palace  of  ^fahomct. 
Salc''s  Prelim.  Disc,  looba,  says  D''Herbelot,  signifies  beatitude,  or  eter- 
nal happiness. 

t  Mahomet  is  described,  in  the  53d  Chapter  of  the  Koran,  as  having  seen 
the  Angel  Gabriel,  "by  the  lote-tree,  beyond  whii-h  there  is  no  passing ; 
near  it  is  the  Garden  of  Eternal  Abode."  This  tree,  say  the  commentators, 
stands  in  the  seventh  Heaven,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  throne  of  God. 

s 


'i06  MOORK — VOL.    I. 

Entangling  in  its  net  of  smiles 
So  fair  a  group  of  elfin  isles, 
1  felt  as  if  the  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky- 
As  if  I  breath'd  the  blissful  air 

That  yet  was  warm  with  Sappho's  sigh  ! 

.And  now  the  downy  hand  of  rest 
Her  signet  on  my  eyes  imprest. 
And  still  the  bright  and  balmy  spell. 
Like  star-dew,  o'er  my  fancy  fell ! 
I  thought  that,  all  enrapt,  I  stray'd 
Through  that  serene  luxurious  shade,* 
Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Loves 

To  polish  virtue's  native  brightness. 
Just  as  the  beak  of  playful  doves 

Can  give  to  pearls  a  smoother  whiteness  \f 

•Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nights 

So  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  withdraws  but  half  its  lights. 

And  all  is  moonshine,  balm  and  peace  ! 
And  thou  wert  there,  my  own  belov'd  ! 
And  dearly  by  thy  side  I  rov'd 

*  Gassendi  thinks  that  the  gardens,  which  Pausanias  mentions,  in  Lis 
first  Book,  were  tlinse  of  Epicurus  ;  and  Stuart  says,  in  his  Antiquities  of 
Athens, "  Near  this  convent  (the  convent  of  Hagios  Asomatos)  is  the  place 
called  at  present  Kepoi,  or  the  Gardens :  and  Ampelos  Kepos,  or  the 
Vineyard  Garden  ;  tlit-se  were  probably  the  gardens  which  Pausanias  vi- 
sited."   Chap.  ii.  Vol.  I. 

t  This  method  of  polishing  pearls,  by  leaving  them  awhile  to  be  played 
with  by  doves,  is  riientiojied  by  the  fanciful  Cardanus,  de  Keruio  Varietal. 
Lib.  vii.  cap.  34. 


M0OK£ — VOL.   1.  C07 

'I'hrough  many  a  temple's  reverend  gloom, 
And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom. 
Where  beauty  blush'd  and  wisdom  taught. 
Where  lovers  sigh'd  and  sages  thought, 
Where  hearts  might  feel  or  heads  discern. 

And  all  was  form'd  to  soothe  or  move, 
Vo  make  the  dullest  love  to  learn, 

To  make  the  coldest  learn  to  love  '. 
And  now  the  fairy  pathway  seem'd 

To  lead  us  through  enchanted  ground. 
Where  all  that  bard  has  ever  dream'd 
Of  love  or  luxury  bloom'd  around  ! 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bright  bewildering  scene — 
Along  the  alley's  deepening  green 
Soft  lamps,  that  hung  like  burning  flowers, 
And  scented  and  illum'd  the  bowers, 
.Seem'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  roves 
Amid  the  lone  Hercynian  groves. 
Appear  the  countless  birds  of  light. 
That  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night. 
And  from  their  wings  diffuse  a  ray 
Along  the  traveller's  weary  way  !* 
'Twas  light  of  that  mysterious  kind, 

Through  which  the  soul  is  doom'd  to  roam, 
When  it  has  left  tliis  world  behind, 

And  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home  ! 
And,  Nea,  thou  didst  look  and  move, 

*  In  Hercjniio  Germaniae  saitu  inusitata  ^nera  alitum  flccepinms,qua' 
•uiii  pluiui.^,  igiiiiim  modo,  coUuctant  noctibus.    Plin.  Lib.  x.  cap.  47. 


208  MOOKB TOL.    I. 

Like  any  blooming  soul  of  bliss, 
That  wanders  to  its  home  above 

Throug-ii  mild  and  shadowy  llg-ht  like  this  1 

But  now,  methought,  we  stole  along 

Througli  halls  of  more  voluptuous  glory 

Than  ever  liv'd  in  Teian  song. 

Or  wanton'd  in  Milesian  story  !  * 
And  nymphs  were  there,  whose  very  eyes 
Seem'd  almost  to  exhale  in  sighs  ; 
Whose  eveiy  little  ringlet  thrill'd. 
As  if  with  soul  and  passion  fill'd  ! 
Some  flew  with  amber  cups,  around. 
Shedding  the  flowery  wines  of  Crete, 
And  as  they  pass'd  with  youthful  bound, 

The  onyx  shone  beneath  their  feet  !f 
While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow, 
Entwin'd  by  snakes  of  burnish'd  gold,i 
And  showing  limbs,  as  loth  to  show, 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold, 
Glided  along  the  festal  ring 
With  vases,  all  respiring  spring. 
Where  roses  lay  in  languor  breathing, 

*  The  Mik'siacs,  or  Milesian  fables,  had  their  origin  in'iMiletus,  a  luxu- 
rjoiis  town  of  Ionia.  Aristides  was  the  most  celebrated  author  of  these  ii- 
tentious  fictions. — Plutarch, 

t  It  appears  that  in  very  splendid  mansions,  the  ttoor  or  pavement  was 
frequently  of  onyx.  Thus  Martial ;  "  Calcatusque  tuo  sub  pede  lucet 
onyx."  Epig.  59,  Lib.  xii. 

X  Bracelets  of  this  shape  were  a  favourite  ornament  among-  the  women 
•  if  antiquity. 


MOOKE VOL.    r. 


209 


And  the  young  bee-grape,*  round  them  wreathing, 
Hung  on  their  blushes  warm  and  meek. 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek  ! 
Oh,  Nea  !  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  that  so  divinely  bound  me  ! 
Why  did  I  wake  !  how  could  I  wake 

With  thee  my  own  and  heaven  around  me  I 


NOCKMAHAL. 

So  felt  the  magnificent  Son  of  AcBAB,f 

When  from  power  and  pomp  and  the  trophies  of  war 

He  flew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 

With  the  Light  of  the  Haram,  his  young  Nourmahai, 

When  free  and  uncrown'd  as  the  Conqueror  rov'd 

By  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belov'd. 

He  saw,  in  the  wreaths  she  would  playfully  snatch 

From  the  hedges,  a  glory  his  crown  could  not  match. 

And  preferr'd  in  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that  curPd 

Down  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the  world  ! 

There's  a  beauty,  for  ever  unchangingly  bright, 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  summer  day's  light. 
Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow  made  tender. 
Till  Love  falls  asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendour. 


*  Apiana,  mentioned  by  Pliny,  Lib.  xiv.  and  "  now  called  the  Muscatfjl 
(a  muscarum  telis")  says  Pancirollus,  Book  i.  Sect.  1,  Cbap.  17, 

t  Jehanguire  was  the  son  of  the  Great  Acbar. 

S2, 


310  MOOEE — vol.    I. 

This  was  not  the  beauty — oh  !  nothing  like  this, 
That  to  young  Noubmahal  gave  such  magic  of  bliss  ; 
But  that  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  plays 
Xike  the  light  upon  Autumn's  soft  shadowy  days ; 
Now  here,  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it  flies 
From  the  hps  to  the  cheeks,  from  the  cheek  to  the  eyes, 
Now  melting  in  mist  and  now  breaking  in  gleams. 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  Heav*n  in  his  dreams  ! 
When  pensive  it  seem'd  as  if  that  very  grace. 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  born  with  her  face  ; 
And  when  angry, — for  ev'n  in  the  tranquillest  climes 
Light  breezes  will  ruffle  the  blossoms  sometim.es — 
The  short  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty  hke  flowers  that  are  sweetest  when  shaken, 
if  tenderness  touch'd  her,  the  dark  of  her  eye 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenlier  dye. 
From  the  depth  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy  reveaUngs 
From  innermost  shrines,  came  the  light  of  her  feelings  ! 
Then  her  mirth — oh  !  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took  wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  a  wild-bird  in  Spring  ;-— 
Illum'd  by  a  wit  that  would  fascinate  sages, 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loos'd  from  their  cages.* 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  Ufe,  without  any  controul 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,  rung  from  her  soul ; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  discover. 
In  lip,  cheek  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten'd  all  over, — 

*  "  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever  the  former  took 
the  latter  prisoners,  they  sliut  them  ujj  in  iron  cages,  and  hun^  them  oa 
the  highest  trees.  Here  they  were  visited  by  their  companions,  who 
brought  them  the  choicest  odonrsi"— i?ic/j«r</>'o?i. 


MOOnE VOL.    I,  ?lt 

Like  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon. 

When  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laug"hs  in  the  sun. 

Such,  such  were  the  peerless  enchantments  that  gave 

NouR3iAHAL  the  proud  Lord  of  the  East,  for  her  slave  ; 

And  though  bright  was  his  Haram, — a  living  parterre 

Of  the  flow'rs*  of  this  planet — though  treasures  were  there. 

For  which  Soliman's  self  might  have  giv'n  all  the  store 

That  the  navy  from  Ophir  e'er  vving'd  to  his  shore. 

Yet  dim  before  her  were  the  smiles  of  them  all. 

And  the  Light  of  his  Haram  was  young  Nourxahal  ! 


THE    FICKLENESS    OF    LOVE. 

Alas — how  light  a  cause  may  move 

Dissensions  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried, 

And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough, 

Yet  In  a  sunny  hour  fall  off, 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea, 

When  heav'n  was  all  tranquillity  ! 

A  something,  light  as  air — a  look, 

A  word  unkind,  or  wrongly  taken — 
Oh  !  love,  that  tempests  never  shook, 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin  ; 

lu  the  Malay  lan^ag^e  the  same  word  si{>fmfie$  womea  and  fiower«> 


21^  MTOOBE— VOL.    I. 

And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 

They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day  ; 

And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 

A  tenderness  round  all  they  said  ; 

Till  fast  declining  one  by  one,  '■ 

The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone. 

And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 

Like  broken  clouds, — or  like  the  stream^ 

That  smihng  left  the  mountain's  brow. 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever. 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below. 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  for  ever. 

Oh  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  love. 
Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound. 

As  in  the  Fields  of  Bliss  above 

He  sits,  with  flowrets  fetter'd  round  ;* — 
Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings. 
Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings  ; 
For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  flight 
Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light. 
Like  that  celestial  bird, — whose  nest 

Is  found  beneath  far  Eastern  skies, — 
Whose  wings,  though  radiant  when  at  rest^ 

Lose  all  their  glory  when  he  flies  !f 
Some  difference,  of  tliis  dangerous  kind, — 

*  See  the  representation  of  the  Eastern  Cupid  pinioned  closely  round 
with  wreaths  of  flowers,  in  Plcarfs  C^r^monis  Religieuses. 

t  "  Among  the  birds  of  Tonquin  is  a  species  of  goldfinch,  which  sings 
so  melodiously  that  it  is  called  Celestial  Bird.  Its  wings  when  it  is  perch- 
ed, appear  variegated  with  beautiful  colours,  but  when  it  flies  they  lose  all 
their  splendour."— GrwzVr. 


MOORE — VOL.  II.  21.3 

Hy  which,  though  light,  the  links  that  bind 
The  fondest  hearts  may  soon  be  riven  ; 
Some  shadow  in  love's  summer  heaven, 
Wiiich,  though  a  fleecy  speck  at  first, 
May  yet  in  awful  thunder  burst ; — 


AN    EPISTLE    FHOM    THE    BAXKS    OF    THE    ST.     XAWREXCZ, 

Not  many  months  have  now  been  dream'd  away 
Since  yonder  sun,  (beneath  whose  evening  ray 
We  rest  our  boat  among  these  Indian  Isles, ) 
Saw  me,  where  mazy  Trent  serenely  smiles 
Through  many  an  oak,  as  sacred  to  the  groves. 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  pious  Persian  roves. 
And  hears  the  soul  of  father  or  of  chief. 
Or  loved  mistress,  sigh  in  every  leaf!* 
There  listening,  Lady  !   while  thy  lip  hath  sung 
My  own  unpolish'd  lays,  how  proud  I've  hung 
On  every  mellow'd  number  !  proud  to  feel 
That  notes  like  mine  should  have  the  fate  to  steal. 
As  o'er  thy  hallowing  hp  they  sigh'd  along, 
Such  breath  of  passion  and  such  soul  of  song. 
Oh  !  I  have  wonder'd,  like  the  peasant  boy 
Who  sings  at  eve  his  sabbath  strains  of  joy, 
And  when  he  hears  the  rude  luxuriant  note 


*  Avendo  essi  jjer  costume  di  avere  in  veneratione  gVi  alberi  grandi  ^t 
antichi,  quasi  che  siano  spesso  ricettaccoli  di  anime  beate.  Pietro  della 
Vallc,  Pai-t  Secoud.  Lettera  16  da  i  giardini  di  Sciraz. 


5?14  Moont — vor.  ir. 

Back  to  his  ear  on  softening  echoes  float. 
Believes  it  still  some  answering  spirit's  tone, 
And  thinks  it  all  too  sweet  to  be  his  own  ! 
I  dream'd  not  then  that,  ere  the  rolling  year 
Had  fill'd  its  cu'cle,  I  should  wander  here 
In  musing  awe  ;  should  tread  this  wondrous  world 
See  all  its  store  of  inland  waters  hurl'd 
In  one  vast  volume  down  Niagara's  steep, 
Or  calm  beyond  them  in  transparent  sleep. 
Where  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  shed 
Their  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed  ! — 
Should  trace  the  grand  Cadaraqui,  and  glide 
Down  the  white  Rapids  of  his  lordly  tide 
Through  massy  woods,  through  islets  flowering  fair, 
Through  shades  of  bloom,  where  the  first  sinful  pair. 
For  consolation  might  have  weeping  tiod. 
When  banish*d  from  the  garden  of  their  God  ! 
Oh,  Lady  !  these  are  miracles,  which  man 
Cag'd  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pigmy  plan. 
Can  scarcely  dream  of  ;  which  his  eye  must  sec 
To  know  how  beautiful  this  world  can  be  ! 

But  soft  ! — the  tinges  of  the  west  decline. 
And  night  falls  dewy  o'er  these  banks  of  pine. 
Among  the  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  boat 
Is  rock'd  to  rest,  the  wind's  complaining  note 
Dies,  like  a  half-breath'd  whispering  of  flutes  ; 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoot^. 


MOORE — VOL.  II.  :;J1,5 

And  I  can  trace  him,  Lke  a  watery  star/ 

Down  the  steep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 

Amid  the  foaming-  breakers'  silvery  light, 

Where  yon  rough  rapids  sparkle  through  the  night ' 

Here,  as  along  this  shadowy  bank  I  stray. 

And  the  smooth  glass-snake, f  gliding  o'er  my  way, 

Shows  the  dim  moonlight  through  his  scaly  form. 

Fancy,  with  all  the  scene's  enchantment  warm 

Hears  in  the  mui'mur  of  the  nightly  breeze, 

*^ome  Indian  Spirit  warble  words  like  these  ; 

From  the  clime  of  sacred  doves, t 

Where  the  blessed  Indian  roves, 

Through  the  air  on  wing,  as  white 

As  the  spirit-stones  of  light, § 

Which  the  eve  of  morning  counts* 

On  the  Appalachian  mounts  ! 

Hither  oft  my  flight  I  take 

Over  Huron's  lucid  lake. 

Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew. 

Sleeps  beneath  the  light  canoe. 

Which,  reflected,  floating  there. 

Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air. 

*  Anburey  in  his  travels,  has  noticed  this  shooting  illumination  which  j)or 
poises  diffuse  at  night  through  the  St.  Lawrence.  Vol.  i.  p.  29. 
t  The  glass-snake  is  brittle  and  transparent. 

t"The  departed  spirit  goes  into  the  Country  of  Souls,  where,  according  to 
some,  it  is  transformed  into  a  dovtr."  Charlcvuix,  upon  the  Traditions  unci 
the  Reunion  of  the  Savages  of  Canada.  See  the  curious  Fable  of  the  A/r.o- 
rican  Orpheus  in  Lajitau,  Tom.  i.  p.  402. 

§  "  The  mountains  appeared  to  be  sprinkled  with  white  stones,  wbitL 
glistened  in  the  sun,  and  were  called  by  th«  Indians  inan«te«  aseniah;  m: 
spirit-stones."— MBfA;rnxie'*  Journal. 


216  nouHE — vol.  II. 

1  hen,  when  I  have  stmy'd  awhile 
Throug-h  the  Manatimlin  isle,* 
Breathing-  all  its  holy  bloom, 
Swift  upon  the  purple  plume 
Of  my  Wakon-birdf  I  fly 
Where  beneath  a  burninjy  sky. 
0*er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake 
Slumbci-s  many  a  water  snake, 
Basking  in  the  wxb  of  leaves, 
Which  the  weeping-  hly  weaves  U 
Then  1  chasu  the  flow'ret-king- 
Through  his  blowny  wild  of  spring  i 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  his  neck  and  w^int^s  suft'use. 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink. 
Thirsting-  for  his  balmy  drink  -, 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire, 
Lovely  in  his  looks  of  ire, 
Breaking  eveiy  infant  stem. 
Scattering  every  velvet  gcjn. 
Where  his  little  tyrant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip ! 

*  Apr^s  avoir  traverse  jihisierus  iles  put-  consid^TabUs,  nous  tii  tntnva- 
nifii,  If  quaU-itine  jour  iiui-  lanuuso,  noinme*'  I'Isle  cle  Manitoualin.  ^oij- 
ages  (lit  Huron  de  Lahonltni,  Toin.  i.  Lttt,  ]5.  MaiiaUiuliii  sipnifus  a  place 
of  Spirits,  and  this  island  in  Lakr  Huron  is  held  sacred  by  the  Indians. 

t  "  The  Wakon-bird,  vhith  probably  is  of  tlu'  same  species  with  the 
bird  of  paradise,  receives  its  name  from  the  ideas  the  luoians  have  of  its 
superior  excellence  ;  the  WaKon-bird  being,  in  their  languag^e,  tlie  Bird 
of  the  Great  Spirit."    Morse. 

X  The  islands  of  Lake  Erie  are  surrounded  to  a  considerable  distance 
by  a  larpe  pond-lily,  whose  ieaves  spread  thickly  over  the  surface  of  the 
lake,  and  form  a  kind  of  bed  for  the  water-snakes  in  sununer. 


MooaK — yoL.  II.  ^17 

Then  my  plaj'ful  hand  I  steep 
Where  the  g-old-thread*  loves  to  creep. 
Cull  from  thence  a  tangled  wreath. 
Words  of  magic  round  it  breathe, 
And  the  sunny  cliaplet  spread 
O'er  the  sleeping  fly-bird's  head,| 
Till  witli  dreams  of  honey  blest, 
Haunted  in  his  downy  nest 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells. 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells. 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  the  fly-bird's  heaven  of  flowecs  I 
Oft  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakes 
Melt  along  the  mflHed  lakes ; 
When  the  grey  moose  sheds  his  horns. 
When  the  ti'ack,  at  evening,  wai'ns 
Weary  hunters  of  the  way 
To  the  wigwam's  cheering-  ray. 
Then,  aloft  through  freezing  air. 
With  the  snow-bird  soft  and  fair 
As  the  fleece  that  Heaven  flings 
O'er  his  little  pearly  wings, 
Light  above  the  rocks  I  play. 
Where  Niagai-a's  stany  spray, 

*  <■  The  gold-thread  is  of  tho  vine  kind,  and  gfrows  in  swamps.  Thcr 
roots  spread  themselves  just  undtr  tlie  surface  of  the  morasses,  and  are 
easily  drawn  out  by  hanclfuls.  They  resemble  a  large  entangled  skein  of 
silk,  and  ai-e  of  a  bright  yellow."'— ii/orw. 

t  L'oiseau  mouche,  gros  commc  un  hanneton,  est  de  toutes  couleurs,  vi- 
ves  et  changeantes  :  il  tire  sa  subsistanee  des  tieurs  comme  les  abeilles  ; 
son  nid  est  faint  d'lin  colon  tres-fin  suspendu  a  line  branche  d'arbre, 
Voijofrcs  au.v  Indes  Occkkntalcs,  par  M,  Bossii.  Second  Part.  lett.  x^c. 

T 


218  MOORI — TOL.  II, 

Frozen  on  the  cliff,  appears 

Like  a  giant's  starting-  tears  ! 

There,  amid  the  Island-sedge, 

Just  upon  the  cataract's  edge, 

Where  the  foot  of  living  man 

Never  trod  since  time  began. 

Lone  I  sit,  at  close  of  day, 

While,  beneath  the  golden  ray. 

Icy  columns  gleam  below, 

Feather'd  round  with  falling  snow. 

And  an  arch  of  glory  springs, 

Brilliant  as  the  chain  of  rings 

Round  the  neck  of  virgins  hung 

Virgins,  who  have  wander'd  young 

O'er  the  waters  of  the  west 

To  the  land  where  spirits  rest  ! 

Thus  have  I  charm'd,  with  visionary  lay, 

The  lonely  moments  of  the  night  away  ; 

And  now,  fresh  day-light  o'er  the  water  beams  ! 

Once  more,  embark'd  upon  the  glittering  streams; 

Our  boat  flies  light  along  tbie  leafy  shore, 

Shooting  the  falls  without  a  dip  of  oar 

Or  breath  of  zephyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 

The  poet  saw,  in  dreams  divinely  dark. 

Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  floods 

*  Vidi  che  sdeg^na  gli  argomenti  umani ; 
Si  che  renio  iion  vuol,  iit-  altro  velo, 
Che  1'  ale  sue  tra  !iti  si  lontaini. 
Vcdi  come  '1  hii  dritte  verso  'I  cielo 
Trattando  "1  aert  con  1'  eterne  pcnne  ; 
Che  non  si  mutau,  corae  mor  al  pclo. 

Dante,  Purgator  Cant.  ii. 


JIOORE- — VOt.  II.  ^^9 

"WHiiie  on  its  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood. 
And,  with  his  wings  of  living  light  unfurl'd 
Coasted  the  dim  shores  of  another  world  ! 

Yet  oh  !  believe  me,  in  this  blooming  maze 
Of  lovely  nature,  where  the  fancy  strays 
From  charm  to  charm,  where  every  flowret's  hue 
Hath  something  strange  and  eveiy  leaf  is  new  ! 
I  never  feel  a  bliss  so  pure  and  still 
So  heavenly  calm,  as  when  a  stream  or  hill. 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  those  remember'd  well. 
Or  breeze,  or  echo,  or  some  wild-flower's  smell, 
(For,  who  can  say  what  small  and  fairy  ties 
The  memory  flings  o'er  pleasure,  as  it  flies  !) 
Reminds  my  heart  of  many  a  sylvan  dream 
I  once  indulg'd  by  Trent's  inspiring  stream. 
Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  moonlight  nights 
*  On  Donnington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights  ! 

Whether  I  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o'er 
When  I  have  seen  thee  cull  the  blooms  of  lore. 
With  him,  the  polish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
A  sister's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride  ! 
When  thou  hast  read  of  heroes,  trophied  high, 
In  ancient  fame,  and  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read. 
For  pure  and  brightening  comments  on  the  dead  1 
Or  whether  memory  to  my  mind  recalls 
The  festal  grandeur  of  those  lordly  halls. 
When  guests  have  met  around  the  sparkling  board^ 


l^  atoenE — TGI.  w. 

And  welcome  warm'd  the  cup  that  luxury  pour'd  ; 
When  the  brig-ht  future  Star  of  England's  Throne, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  banquet  shone. 
Winning  respect,  nor  claiming  what  he  won. 
But  tempering  gi'eatness,  like  an  evening  sun 
Whose  light  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire, 
Glorious  but  mild,  all  softness  yet  all  fire  !— 
Whatever  hue  my  recollections  take. 
Even  the  regret,  the  very  pain  they  wake 
Is  dear  and  exquisite  ! — but  oh  !  no  more — 
Lady  !  adieu — my  heart  has  linger'd  o'er 
These  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lies, 
Stream,  banks,  and  bowers,  have  fsuied  on  my  eyes ! 


FABEWELL. 

Farewell — ferewell  to  thee,  Aeabt's  daughter  ! 

(Thus  warbled  a  Pebi  beneath  the  dark  sea) 
No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  Omas's  green  water. 

More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  Spirit  in  thee. 

Oh  !  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  the  growing. 
How  light  was  thy  heart  'till  love's  witchery  came, 

Like  the  wind  of  the  south*  o'er  a  summer  lute  blowmg^. 
And  hush'd  all  its  music  and  wither'd  its  frame  ! 

But  long,  upon  Ababt's  green  sunny  highlands, 
Sliall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 

*  «  This  wind  (the  Samoor)  so  softens  the  strings  of  lutes,  that  they  can 
jwvw  be  tuned  while  it  \iiits,'"—Stephen^s  Persia. 


MoenE — reL.  ii.  .^1 

Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Islands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star*  to  hght  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning, 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old,f 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning, 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  maid,  when  with  flowers  she  dresses 
Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day. 

Will  think  of  thy  fate,  till,  neglecting  her  tresses, 
She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  Irax,  belov'd  of  her  Hero  !  forget  thee, — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  start. 

Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set  thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  heart. 

Farewell — be  it  ours  to  embellish  tliy  pillow 

With  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  the  deep  ^ 

Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveUest  amber 
That  ever  the  soiTowing  sea-bird  has  wept  ;t 

*  "  One  of  the  greatest  curiosities  found  in  the  Persian  Gulf  is  a  fish 
which  the  English  call  Star-fish.  It  is  circulai-,  and  at  night  very  luminous, 
resembling  the  full  moon  surrounded  by  rays.''— /►ijrxa  Al/u  Taleb, 

t  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  date-time,  of  their  work, 
their  dances,  and  their  return  home  from  the  palm-gioves  at  the  end  of 
autumn  with  the  fruits,  v.  KempJ'cr,  Anicenitat,  Exot. 

X  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a  concretion  of  the  tears 
of  birds.— Trrfojij;-,  Chambers, 

T2 


222  MOOBE — VOL.  IT. 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollovv-wreath'd  chambei*. 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling", 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head  ; 

We'll  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian*  are  sparklingv 
And  gather  then-  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until  Pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 

They'll  weep  for  the  Chieftadn  who  died  on  that  mountmn. 
They'll  weep  for  the  Maiden  who  sleeps  in  this  wave. 


MELODIES. 
I. 

There  breathes  the  language  known  and  felt. 
Far  as  the  pure  air  spreads  its  living  zone  5 
Wherever  Rage  can  rouse,  or  Pity  melt. 
That  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  and  known. 
From  those  meridian  plains. 
Where  oft,  of  old,  on  some  high  tower. 
The  soft  Peruvian  poured  his  midnight  strains. 
And  called  his  distant  love  with  such  sweet  power, 
That  when  she  heard  the  well  known  lay. 
No  worlds  could  keep  her  from  his  anus  away. 
•  To  those  bleak  realms  of  polar  night, 

*  *'  The  bay  of  Kieselarke,  which  is  otherwise  called  the  GjOlden  Bay, 
the  sand  whereof  shines  as  &re,"—Str^. 


mooue — vol.  ir.  223 

Where  the  youth  of  Lapland's  sky, 

Bids  his  rapid  reindeer  fly. 
And  sings,  along  the  darkling  waste  of  snow. 
As  blithe  as  if  the  blessed  hght 
Of  vernal  Phosbus  burn'd  upon  his  brow. 
Oh  Music  !  thy  celestial  claim 
Is  still  resistless,  still  the  same ; 
And,  faithful  as  the  mighty  sea 
To  the  pale  star  that  o*er  its  realms  presides, 
The  spell-bound  tides 
Of  human  passions  rise  and  fall  from  thee. 

f  Greek  Mr.  J 
List !  'tis  a  Grecian  maid  that  sings, 
While,  from  Ilyssus'  silvery  springs. 
She  draws  the  cool  lymph  in  her  gi-aceful  urn. 
While,  by  her  side,  in  Music's  charm  dissolving. 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving. 
Breams  of  bright  days  that  never  can  return  ; 
When  Athens  nm-s'd  her  ohve-bough 
W^ith  hands  by  tyrant  power  unchained, 
\nd  braided  for  the  Muse's  brow 
A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstained ; 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  field. 
Where  coward  feet  now  faintly  falter. 
And  every  arm  was  Freedom's  shield. 
And  every  heart  was  Freedom's  altar. 

C  Greek  Mr^  interrupted  by  a  trumpet.  J 
Hark  !  'tis  the  sound  that  charms 
The  war-steed's  wakening  ears*— 


324  MooBE — TOL.  ri. 

Oh — ^many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 

Round  her  boy-soldier,  when  that  sound  she  heai'§^ 

And,  tho'  her  fond  heai-t  sinks  with  fears. 

Is  proud  to  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 

With  valour's  fever  at  the  sound. — 

See  !  from  his  native  hills  afar 

The  rude  Helvetian  flies  to  war. 

Careless  for  what,  for  whom  he  fights. 

For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs  or  rights, 

A  conqueror  oft,  a  hero  never  ; 

Yet  lavish  of  his  life-blood  still. 

As  if  'twere  hke  his  mountain-rill. 

And  gushed  for  ever  ! 
Oh  Music  !  here,  even  here. 

Thy  soul-felt  charai  asserts  its  wonderous  power  ; 
There  is  an  air,  which  oft  among  the  rocks 
Of  his  own  loved  land  at  evening  hour 
Is  heard,  when  shepherds  homeward  pipe  their  flocks; 
Oh  !  every  note  of  it  would  thrill  his  mind 
With  tenderest  thoughts,  and  bring  about  his  knees 
The  rosy  children  whom  he  left  behind. 
And  fill  each  little  angel  eye 
Witli  speaking  tears,  that  ask  him,  why 
He  wandered  from  his  hut  to  scenes  like  these  ■ 
Vain,  vain,  is  then  the  trumpet's  brazen  roar. 
Sweet  notes  of  home,  of  love,  are  all  he  hears. 
And  the  stem  eyes  that  looked  for  blood  before. 
Now,  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in  tears  i 
fManz  des  Vackes,  interrupted  hy  a  trumpet.  J 


^loenE — TOL.  n.  225 

liut  wake  the  trumpet's  blast  again. 

And  rouse  the  ranks  of  warrior-men  ! 

Oh  War  !  when  Truth  thy  arm  employs. 

And  Freedom's  spirit  guides  the  labouring  storm 

Thy  vengeance  takes  a  hallowed  form, 

And,  like  heaven's  lightning,  sacredly  destroys. 

Nor,  MuMc  !  through  thy  breathing  sphere 

Lives  there  a  sound  more  grateful  to  the  ear 

Of  Him:  who  made  all  harmony. 

Than  the  blest  sound  of  fetters  breaking. 

And  the  first  hymn,  that  man  awaking 

From  slavery's  slumber,  breathes  to  Liberty. 

C Spanish   Patriot's  Song.  J 
Hark  !  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 
Bursts  the  bold  enthusiast  strain. 
Like  morning's  music  on  the  air. 
And  seems,  in  every  note,  to  swear. 
By  Saragossa's  mined  streets. 
By  brave  Gerona's  deathful  story. 
That  while  one  Spaniard's  life-blood  beats. 
That  blood  shall  stain  a  conq[ueror*s  glor}' ! 

f  Spanish  Jlir  concluded.  J 

But  ah  !  if  vain  the  patriot  Spaniard's  zeal. 
If  neitlier  valour's  force,  nor  wisdom's  lights. 
Can  break  nor  melt  the  blood-cemented  seal 
That  shuts  too  close  the  book  of  Europe's  rights^ 
What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 
Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded. 


226  WOOEE — TOl.  II. 

of  burled  hopes  remembered  well. 
Of  ardour  quenched,  and  honour  faded  ^ 
What  muse  shall  mourn  the  breathless  brave. 
In  sweetest  dirge  at  memory's  shrine  5 
What  hai-p  shall  sig-h  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 

Oh  !  Erin,  thine. 
C Melancholy  Irish  Air,  succeeded  by  a  lively  one.  J 

Blest  notes  of  mirth  !  ye  spring  from  sorrow's  lay. 

Like  the  sweet  vester  of  the  bird  that  sings 

In  the  bright  sunset  of  an  April  day. 

While  the  cold  shower  yet  hangs  upon  liis  wings. 

Long  may  the  Irish  heart  repeat 

An  echo  to  those  hvely  strains ; 

And  when  the  stranger's  ear  shall  meet 

That  melody  on  distant  plams. 

Oh  !  he  will  feel  his  soul  expand 

With  grateful  warmth,  and,  sighing,  say — 

Thus  speaks  the  music  of  the  land. 

Where  welcome  ever  lights  the  stranger's  way  ; 

Where  still  the  wo  of  others  to  beguile. 

Is  e'en  the  gayest  heart's  most  lov'd  employ ; 

Where  Grief  herself  Avill  generously  smile. 

Thro'  her  own  tears,  to  share  another's  joy  J 

II. 

Fbom  Chutdara's*  warbling  fount  I  come, 

Call'd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell ; 

From  Chindara's  fount,  my  fahy  home, 

*  "  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  instruments  are  said  to  be  COnstaBtly 
playing."— i?icAard#«n. 


MOOEE — VOL.  II.  227 

Where  in  music,  morn  and  night,  I  dwell ; 
Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about, 

And  voices  are  singing  the  whole  day  long. 
And  every  sigh  the  heart  breathes  out 
Is  tum'd,  as  it  leaves  the  lips,  to  song 

Hither  I  come 

From  my  faiiy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain,. 

I  swear  by  the  breath 

Of  that  moonlight  \\Teath, 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats, 

And  mine  are  the  murmuring,  -dying  notes. 
That  fall  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea. 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly  ! 
And  the  passionate  strains  that,  deeply  going, 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through. 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  water  blowing. 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too  ! 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 
The  Spirits  of  past  delight  obey  ; — 
Let  but  the  tunefiU  tahsman  sound. 
And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 
And  mine  is  tiie  gentle  song  that  bears. 

From  soul  to  soid,  the  wishes  of  love. 
As  a  bird,  tliat  wafts  through  genial  ah's 

The  cinnamon  seed  from  grove  to  grove.* 

*  "  The  Pampadour  pig'eon  is  thf  species  winch,  by  carrying  the  triiii, 
of  the  cinuainoii  to  diftcieiit  places,  is  a  great  disseminator  of  llws  valu- 
able tree."— V.  jBrow/t'*  Illustr.  Tab.  19. 


228  MOOSE — vol.  II. 

*Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 

The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure  : 
When  memory  links  the  tone  that  is  g-one 

With  the  blissful  tone  that's  still  in  the  eai' ; 
And  hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near  ! 

The  warrior's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  me, 

Can  as  downy  soft  and  as  yielding  be 
As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  and  'mid  death 
Through  the  field  has  shown — yet  moves  with  a  breath. 

And,  oh  how  the  eyes  of  Beauty  glisten. 

When  music  has  reach'd  her  inward  soul, 
Like  the  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  heaven's  eternal  melodies  roll  ! 

So  hither  I  come 

From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 

I  swear  by  the  breath 

Of  that  moonlight  wreath. 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

III. 

Gome,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer  ! 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  is  still  here  i 
Here  still  is  the  smile  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast, 
And  the  heart  and  the  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last ! 

Oh  !  what  was  love  made  for,  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Through  joy  and  through  torments,  tlwough  glory  and  shame' 


mooue — TOi.  II.  229 

I  knew  not,  I  ask'd  not,  if  guilt's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art ! 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  angel,  in  moments  of  bliss, — 
Still  thy  angel  I'll  be,  mid  the  horrors  of  this, — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pursue, 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee,  or  perish  there  too  ! 

n^ 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye, 

Than  if  day  in  its  pride  had  aiTay'd  it. 
The  land  breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure  arch'd  sky 

Look'd  pure  as  tlie  Spirit  that  made  it ; 
The  murmur  rose  soft  as  I  silently  gaz'd 

In  the  shadowy  waves'  playful  motion, 
From  the  dim  distant  hill,  'till  the  Light-house  fire  blaz'?! 

Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  tiie  ocean. 

No  longer  the  joy  of  the  sailor  boy's  breast. 

Was  heard  in  his  wildly  breath'd  numbers  ; 
The  sea-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave -girdled  nest, 

The  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers  ; 
One  moment  I  look'd  from  the  hill's  gentle  slope. 

All  hush'd  was  the  billows'  commotion, 
And  thought  that  the  Light-house  look'd  lovely  as  hope. 

That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 

The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 

Yet  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow, 
Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  sta.r 
U 


230  MOOEE — VOL.  li. 

That  blaz'd  on  the  breast  of  the  billow  : 
In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul  flies; 

And  death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion,' 
O  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise, 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean. 

V. 

Oh  !  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light. 

And  as  free  from  a  pang,  as  they  seem  to  you  now  ; 
Nor  expect  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  of  to-night. 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  my  brow. 
No,  life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours. 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns  ; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flowers, 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  by  the  thorns  ! 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  a  while  ; 

May  we  never  meet  worse  in  our  Pilgrimage  here. 
Than  the  tear  that  enjoyment  can  gild  with  a  smile. 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a  teai-. 

The  thread  of  our  hfe  would  be  dark,  heaven  knows  ? 

If  it  were  not  with  friendship  and  love  intertwin'd  ; 
And  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose. 

When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to  my  mind 
But  they  who  have  lov'd,  the  fondest,  the  purest. 

Who  often  have  wept  o'er  the  dreams  they  behev'd  ; 
And  the  heart  that  has  slumber'd  in  friendship  securest. 

Is  happy  indeed,  if  'twas  never  deceiv'd. 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  while  a  reUc  of  truth 

Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  pray'r  shall  be  mincj— « 


MOOHX— vol.  IJ.  231 

That  the  sunshine  of  love  may  illumine  our  youth, 
And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  decline. 

VI. 

Oh  !  the  days  are  gone,  when  beauty  bright 

My  heart's  chain  wove 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  mom  till  night, 

Was  love,  still  love  ! 

New  hope  may  bloom. 

And  days  may  come. 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam  ; 
But  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life, 

As  love's  young  dream  ! 
Oh  !  there's  nothing  half  s^  sweet  in  life. 

As  love's  young  dream  ! 

Though  the  bard  to  a  purer  fame  may  soar, 

When  wild  youth's  past ; 
Though  he  win  the  wise  who  frown'd  before, 

To  smile  at  last ; 

He'll  never  meet 

A  joy  so  sweet 
In  all  his  noon'of  fame, 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame. 
And,  at  every  close,  she  blushed  to  hear 

The  one  lov'd  name ! 

Oh  !  tliat  haUow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot. 
Which  first  love  trac'd  ! 


232  MOOBE — VOL.  II. 

still  it  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  memory's  waste  ! 

'Tvvas  odour  fled 

As  soon  as  shed, 
'Twas  morning's  winged  dream  ! 
'Twas  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream  ! 
Oh  !  'twas  light,  that  ne'er  can  shine  again. 

On  life's  dull  stream. 

vn. 

A  BEAM  of  tranquillity  smil'd  in  the  west. 
The  storms  of  the  morning  pursued  us  no  more, 

And  the  wave,  while  it  welcom'd  the  moment  of  rest. 
Still  heav'd,  as  remembering  ills  that  were  o'er  ! 

Serenely  my  heart  took  the  hue  of  the  hour. 
Its  passions  were  sleeping,  were  mute  as  the  dead, 

And  the  spmt  becalm'd,  but  remember'd  their  power. 
As  the  billow  the  force  of  the  gale  that  was  fled  ! 

I  thought  of  the  days,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  granted  a  wish  or  a  sigh  ; 

When  the  saddest  emotion  my  bosom  had  known 
Was  pity  for  those  who  were  wiser  than  I ! 

I  felt  how  the  pure,  intellectual  fire 

In  luxury  loses  its  heavenly  ray ; 
How  soon,  in  the  lavishing  cup  of  desire. 

The  pearl  of  the  soul  may  be  melted  away  ? 


J 


mooue — VOL.  II.  233 

And  I  prayed  of  that  Spirit  who  lighted  the  flame. 
That  pleasure  no  more  might  its  purity  dim  ; 

And  that  sulhed  but  little,  or  brightly  the  same, 

I  might  give  back  the  gem  I  ha^  borrow'd  from  hun  ! 

The  thought  was  ecstatic  !  I  felt  as  if  Heaven 
Had  already  the  wreath  of  eternity  shown  ; 

As  if,  passion  all  chasten*d  and  error  forgiven. 
My  heart  had  begun  to  be  purely  its  o\vn  ! 

I  look'd  to  the  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky 

Which  morning  ha^  clouded,  was  clouded  no  more  ; 

**  Oh  !  thus,"  I  exclaim'd,  "  can  a  heavenly  eye 
Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darken'd  before  V* 

vm. 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show. 

For  man's  illusion  given  : 
The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Wo, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow — 

There's  nothing  true  but  Heaven ! 

And  false  the  hght  on  Glory*s  plume^ 

As  fading  hues  of  even  ; 
And  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloom. 
Are  blossoms  gathered  for  the  tomb — 

There's  nothing  bright  but  Heaven ! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day. 

From  wave  to  wave  were  driven. 
And  Fancy's  flash,  and  Reason's  ray. 


2S4  MOORE VOL.  II. 

Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way— 
There's  nothing  calm  but  Heaven  f 

IX. 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet, 
As  tiiat  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet ; 
Oh  '  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shaD  fade  from  my  heart 

Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  ^een  ; 
*Twas  not  the  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill. 
Oh  !  no, — it  was  something  more  exquisite  stiU. 

*Twas  that  friends,  the  belov'd  of  my  bosom,  were  near. 
Who  made  each  scene  of  enchantment  more  dear. 
And  who  felt  how  the  blest  charms  of  natui-e  improve, 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Ovoca  !  how  calm  could  I  rest 

In  thy  bosom  of  shade  with  tlie  friends  I  love  best, 

Where  the  storms  which  we  feel  in  this  cold  world  should  cease. 

And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace  ! 

X. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are  unknown. 

And  its  pleasures  in  all  their  lustre  begin, 
When  we  hve  in  a  bright-beaming  world  of  our  own. 

And  the  light  that  surrounds  us  is  all  from  within  ; 
Oh  'tis  not,  beUeve  me,  in  that  happy  time 

We  can  love,  as  in  houis  of  less  transport  we  may  ; 

0 


MooHE — VOL.  ir.  235 

Of  our  smiles,  of  our  hopes,  'tis  the  gay  sunny  prime. 
But  affection  is  warmest  when  these  fade  away. 

When  we  see  the  first  charm  of  our  youth  pass  us  by, 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  stream  that  will  never  return  j 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so  high. 

Now  tastes  of  the  other^  the  dark  flowing  urn ! 
Then,  then  is  the  moment  affection  can  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew ; 
Love,  nurs'd  among  pleasures,  is  faithless  as  they. 

But  the  Love,  bom  of  Sorrow,  hke  sorrow  is  true  ! 

In  climes  full  of  sunshine,  tho'  splendid  their  dies. 

Yet  faint  is  the  odour  the  flow'rs  shed  about ; 
'Tis  the  clouds  and  the  mists  of  our  own  weeping  skies 

That  call  their  full  spirit  of  fragrancy  out. 
So  the  wild  glow  of  passion  may  kindle  from  miilh. 

But  *tis  only  in  grief  true  affection  appeai-s  ; — 
To  the  magic  of  smiles  it  may  first  owe  its  birth. 

But  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out  by  tears  ! 

XI. 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast  loved, 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then  ; 
Or,  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  remov'd. 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence  and  close  it  again. 
And  oh  !  if 'tis  pain  to  remember  how  far 

From  the  pathway  of  light  he  was  tempted  to  roam. 
Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 

That  arose  on  his  darkness,  and  guided  him  home. 


$36  MOORE — TOL.  II. 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

The  revealing,  that  taught  him  true  love  to  adore,— 
To  feel  the  bright  presence,  and  turn  him  with  shame 

From  the  idols  he  darkly  had  knelt  to  before, 
0*er  the  waves  of  a  hfe  long-  benig-hted  and  wild. 

Thou  cam'st  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the  sea  ; 
And,  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

On  his  evening  horizon,  the  hght  was  from  thee. 

And  tho*  sometimes  the  shade  of  past  folly  would  rise 

And  tho'  falsehood  again  would  allure  him  to  stray. 
He  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those  eyes, 

And  the  folly,  the  falsehood  soon  vanish'd  away. 
As  the  priests  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew  dim. 

At  the  day-beam  alone  could  its  lustre  repair  : 
So  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile,  and  rekindled  it  there  ' 


Like  the  gale  that  sighs  along 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers. 
In  the  grateful  breath  of  song 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  houib  ^ 
Fill'd  with  balm,  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  flowers  have  sunk  in  death* 
So  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone. 

Its  mem'ry  lives  in  music's  breath, 
THE  END. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below 


JUN  11196^ 


^ni^lO,'48(B1040)470 


University  of  California,  Los  Angeles 


L  005  781   319  8 


k  ^ 


